


What If

by Memoryboard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Divorce, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Healing, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memoryboard/pseuds/Memoryboard
Summary: Yuuri could probably go on and list the things that were missing from the life they built together in Moscow—broken in half and picked apart like the remains of their shattered hearts.[or: Yuuri and Viktor's marriage fell apart and they gave up. Fate, however, says otherwise.]





	1. Moscow

**Author's Note:**

> Cheesiest summary ever, but meh
> 
> I haven't done an angsty future fic in so long. I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS GOT EXTENDED LIKE MY OTHER FICS JESUS.  
> We're keeping it at three chapters, ya'll. Maybe will make four as max because I don't trust my self ~~-control~~.
> 
> Made a tumblr linked to fics I write on this ao3 account: [@anna-domini](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/)

They both loved a particular coffee shop a few blocks away from home.

It was one of those places they spent their mornings in, especially on days when they didn’t feel like doing anything, or when any of them wanted to just simply watch the city and the people passing by. Sometimes, they attended poetry night, and though it ranged from the lovely to the strange, both Yuuri and Viktor did love coming to it.

Until they didn’t anymore.

It started out with a fight, one where Yuuri had forgotten what was all about. He wasn’t too sure if Viktor remembered either. Yuuri couldn’t tell you when and where it all began, but he could tell you just how many bouts of shouting there was in the months that they tried to save whatever that was left of them.

And now he was stepping inside their favourite coffee shop, while Viktor was back in their shared apartment filling boxes with the things he collected through the years. It was only right, Viktor had said, that Yuuri kept the apartment they bought together and he returned to his old place in St. Petersburg.

“Coming in alone today, Yuuri?”

He looked up to see Mara, a kind barista that knew Yuuri and Viktor from their frequent visits. Enough that she already knew what their orders would be, and would already be working on their drinks as soon as she saw them come in.

They liked her a lot, even talked to her when she was done with her shift, but her presence alone—though not her fault at all—was bringing unwelcome images at the back of Yuuri’s mind.

“Yeah,” he offered her a weak smile, standing in front of the counter awkwardly as he waited for his daily dose of caffeine.

“Been busy lately?” She asked. “I haven’t seen you two in weeks.”

“We’ve been in St. Petersburg for the most of last month,” he said.

Which hadn’t been a lie, not exactly, although he did leave out the fact that Viktor was the only one who went back in forth to check up on Yurio. And also the fact that Viktor did it for a breath of fresh air, since the tension inside their Moscow apartment has become outright suffocating. Yuuri had been thankful of those short breaks, too.

He might also need a little bit of alcohol tonight, actually.

“You know, there’s a thing coming up this weekend,” Mara continued on, steam billowing up in front of her as she went on to work, smiling at him in her usual friendliness. “A little karaoke night for couples. I thought you two might want to go—”

“I don’t think we’re going,” Yuuri winced as soon as he realized how rude he had just sounded. “We’re busy all weekend. Maybe next time?”

“Oh,” She teased, still unaware. “I’m guessing date night?”

A sharp, inexplicable pain shot through him almost instantly—but like most of his current concerns, Yuuri managed to swallow it down with a smile. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

-

Viktor was gone by the time he was back.

With most of Viktor’s things removed, the apartment itself felt larger, more hallow. There was no coat next to Yuuri’s, no car keys, no dark running shoes next to his on the floor, no large framed photo of Viktor’s first win at Junior’s.

Yuuri could probably go on and list the things that were missing from the life they built together in Moscow—broken in half and picked apart like the remains of their shattered hearts.

But none of that will change anything.

-

Yurio visited two weeks after Viktor left.

Yuuri still hadn’t told anyone, not even Phichit—and because he didn’t want to be bothered at all, he had basically left his phone on the nightstand and never went to pick it up since.

Neither of them didn’t really have to say anything to Viktor’s former rink mates for them to know. Viktor usually flew to St. Petersburg with Yuuri to help out with whatever he could, sometimes taking note of how Yakov did things, until Viktor was the only one who who constantly showed up.

Him moving with all his stuff back to his old apartment was obvious enough.

Even at the lowest point of the fallout they remained together—attending Mila’s birthday party, coming to watch Yurio at World’s, gracing Chris’ wedding.

No one knew what happened as soon as they came home or went back to their hotel room. No one knew how Viktor sometimes took a swig of Vodka before showing up with Yuuri, just to make sure things weren’t too tense when someone asked about how they were. No one knew that their once-lively apartment had fallen into silence for months and months and months.

No one knew, because Yuuri and Viktor were perfect.

They were in love.

Nothing was going to get in the way.

Bullshit.

“Here,” Yurio shoved a paper bag into Yuuri’s hands.

It felt hot to the touch, and the smell wafting from it was oddly familiar.

“What did you want?” Yuuri asked, a little too tired to add venom in his voice.

He hadn’t slept in four days.

He wasn’t getting much even before that.

Yurio frowned, looking down at Yuuri, his long, blonde hair messy. “I came to visit, you idiot. Will you let me in or not?”

“As if you’d let me stop you,” Yuuri stepped away from the door, walking to the living room without looking behind him.

Yurio went to sit on the sofa, courteous enough to remember to take off his shoes, and stared at Yuuri without saying anything. He stretched out his long legs, languid and comfortable despite the look of caution he had in his eyes. Yurio must have been as tall as Viktor by then, his body less delicate and his face more angled.

No one said anything for minutes.

The silence weighed down on Yuuri, unspoken words heavy in the air between them, Yurio’s gaze contemplating and calculated. They both knew why Yurio was there, no need for pathetic small talk of checking in on how Yuuri was doing.

He was looking around, albeit trying his best to be subtle about it, and looked like he was expecting clutter and madness about the place now that Yuuri didn’t seem to know what to do with himself.

It was the opposite, actually. The apartment was not only devoid of clutter, but also of the things that once gave it personality. It was empty, stripped down to bare necessities, no signs of a home it once was.

“You look like shit,” Yurio said, finally.

“Thanks.”

“So does Viktor.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Yurio huffed in frustration. “You two idiots need to talk this over—”

“We have,” Yuuri answered irritably, his fingers digging unto his leg. On similar occasions, he would have felt bad for cutting someone off before they were done speaking. But he knew Yurio so well at this point that Yuuri figured he’d understand. “The decision’s been made and we’re done.”

“I don’t think so.”

Oh, is that what they thought?

How many people actually thought that this must have been one of their misunderstandings, that it was something they could just wake up to and laugh at the next day? How many of them thought that it was one of those times they misinterpreted what the other said, and would later on continue to frolic in the cold Russian meadows like nothing ever happened?

“It’s not like he just left without planning to.” Yuuri didn’t know if the sharp, instantaneous pain throbbing in his chest was coming from irritation or sadness. Or maybe he wasn’t all that ready to face the reality of his situation just yet. “I gave him space to pack up his things and leave. We knew what we’re getting into.”

“But none of you made a move to file a divorce.”

Yuuri instinctively looked to the wall where photos scattered across it. Photos of their wedding Barcelona, of their honeymoon in England, of their travels to Switzerland and Thailand, of Summer Festivals in Japan—all framed in black metal contrasting against the stark, white walls.

He couldn’t bear to take them down, not when the apartment itself was already bare and white and gloomy.

Maybe Yuuri was weak.

He always knew he loved Viktor more, was more compliant and accepting if Viktor ever made a mistake, and knew that someday Yuuri was going to bore him. Or irritate him. Or make Viktor loathe him.

But Yuuri never did mind. He’ll cry about that later.

Yurio seemed to be looking at the same direction. “You need to talk to him.”

“The divorce is coming as soon as we settle down,” Yuuri said, gesturing at the half empty apartment. They haven’t talked about it, but considering the finality in the last conversation they ever had, they might as well be heading toward that direction. “We just never got to it.”

“Bullshit—”

“I know you think that all things can be fixed, Yurio. Trust me, I thought that too. We thought it was possible, too. We tried, it’s not working.” He said, feeling his chest tighten, feeling it growing dense, expecting it to explode. “You can all stop trying to help.”

Yurio looked at him curiously, his pretty face still disbelieving but all the while curious. He sat back, slouching a little as he leaned unto the back of the couch, feet tapping irritably on the wooden floors. “But you don’t hate him.”

“Oh, I do.”

Yuuri’s own words reverberated like the echoing sounds following a gunshot, wounding him from the inside out. He has, in fact, said that to Viktor’s face and _meant_ it. He was not lying to Yurio just to shut him up—and that, in of itself, was sadder.

Yurio’s eyes went wide, face softening, unable to form a scowl in his surprise. “That’s—”

“We’ve hated each other for a long time, Yurio.” Yuuri sighed. He slipped off his glasses and began to rub at his eyes, feeling the numbing sensation of tiredness and lack of sleep. “It’s not that we didn’t want to fix it. But forcing ourselves to stay together wasn’t doing us any good. I appreciate that you care, I really do, but we’re better off like this.”

And christ, they did _try_ , and Yuuri knew it didn’t work out just because they weren’t trying enough. They both knew that their seven years wasn’t a thing to be just thrown away, they both knew how much of their lives were spent with each other, but even that cannot solve a problem they couldn’t even specifically point out in the first place.

Yuuri preferred that they ended things while the hate didn’t consume them.

That they still cared about each other even if it were a little less than before.

That it was plates and vases that got broken and not their bones.

That the only ones left bruised were their hearts and not their skins.

“Well, shit. I can’t do this,” Yurio muttered, snarling a little, although it didn’t sound as harsh as he might have wanted it to be. “I can’t fix this for you two idiots if you’ve made up your mind. Just—just talk it over sometime, okay? Consider it. You’re both a mess at this point it’s starting to get really annoying.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Yuuri smiled weakly.

He did appreciate Yurio coming over to visit. Because no matter how you looked at it, no matter how much Yurio denies it, he was the only other person who knew Viktor and Yuuri as a couple and as individuals.

But like everything else, not even that could change anything right now.

“It’s getting pretty late. Don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

“I’m not fifteen anymore,” Yurio waved a hand at him dismissively. “Yakov knows I’m meeting with Otabek this weekend.”

“Alright.”

“I need to go,” Yurio stood, looking extremely uncomfortable, and made his way for the door.

And then he paused, and then turned back to Yuuri, as if just remembering something. “If you want some coffee tomorrow afternoon you could come with us. We don’t have plans or anything like that, so if you’re up to it...I don’t know, you have my number. Just give us a call.”

“Okay.”

“And eat the damn food before it goes bad,” Yurio added. “You look like you lost ten pounds or something.”

“I will.”

Yuuri never opened the bag until morning.

-

He promised to come see Yurio perform in Moscow, so he did.

It wasn’t a long drive, so Yuuri didn’t bother with a hotel or anything like that. He could just come back for the Free Skate the next day, see it through, and then come home again.

Some fans actually did recognize him. Not only was he recently retired, but he had also been winning straight through the last two years of his competitive skating career. And though Yuuri has always represented Japan, his Russian fans never ceased to support him through and through. That also meant that some people were constantly looking over his shoulder, but only to find that he was alone, although no one really asked.

“Yuuri, do you mind?” A girl came up to him, about fifteen or sixteen, holding up a small notebook and offering him a shy smile.

“Oh, of course not,” he said, returning the smile and speaking in flawless Russian. Viktor had been disappointed he lost his Japanese accent a while back, but he wasn’t supposed to think about that, was he?

“My sister and I love you and Viktor both,” she looked down, a little shy. “We said that if you guys ever fall out, we’d stop believing in love completely.”

Yuuri cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “What’s your name?”

After the quick hold up at the parking lot, he was able to sort himself out and decided it was time to leave. He bade his fans goodbye, still smiling though pained, and asked them to cheer for Yurio as well.

Yuuri was making his way the waiting area when he stopped, remembering that he wasn’t there as a choreographer or coach, and took a turn toward the bleachers. Before he could get through the arena’s entrance, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Where’d you think you’re going?”

Yuuri blinked at Yurio, pointing at the doors, wondering why he had to ask about something seemingly obvious. “I’ll be watching you from the crowd.”

“What?” Yurio gave him a dirty look, as if this was the worst thing Yuuri could do to him, and pressed something into his hand. “Shut up. I got you this.”

A Choreographer’s Pass.

“I—”

“You are not watching me demolish your record from the bleachers,” Yurio caught his arm and pulled him toward the waiting room, effectively dragging him.

“Yurio—”

He was then being pulled up and Yurio was suddenly speaking in hushed tones, frowning. “If you’re worried about Viktor, think about what the reporters will think. Or the people with a camera on them, for that matter.”

Yuuri blinked at him. “What?”

“The gossips,” Yurio said. “You don’t want to deal with that shit yet, do you?”

He had no choice but to nod in agreement, already imagining what the tabloids will come up with if he stayed adamant about keeping away.

“Good,” Yurio snorted. “Besides, I really wanted you to watch me break at least one of your records today. Let’s go.”

Several things happened all at once.

First it was Mila, who upon seeing him, charged into Yuuri and threw her arms around him. She was talking fast, telling him how much she’s missed him, as if it’s been years and not three weeks. Next, it was Yakov, who greeted Yuuri in the usual reserved fashion, albeit awkwardly. And then Otabek, who politely nodded at Yuuri in greeting, and had asked him whether he was going to stay in a hotel or not.

Small talk.

Stupid questions.

No one said anything about the most obvious.

Everyone else outside the Yakov’s team didn’t seem to know anything. Like Sara, who embraced Yuuri and basically said the same things Mila had. Michele, who gruffly said something about being too touchy, but made an effort for a conversation anyway. Emil, who was always kind to him, didn’t miss out on dropping a ridiculous joke here and there.

It was fine, until Sara said, not too unkindly, “Were you staying in Moscow this whole time? I was expecting you to arrive with Viktor.”

Had this been three weeks ago, Yuuri would have seen black spots in his vision, or feel his head become light. Had this been three weeks ago, he would have thought this to be a very personal attack, like the world was coming to get him and there was no way to escape from it. He would have choked and excused himself from the conversation, probably seek refuge in one of the bathroom stalls and have a cry.

But he was used to shrugging it all off by now, so with a trembling heart, he said, “I was busy.”

They fell into a casual chatter again, mostly just about Sara’s possible retirement, as she was deemed a little on the older side amongst female competitors. Sometimes someone asked how Yurio’s training was going, or if Yuuri ever went to this one shop in St. Petersburg, or ask him the best places to take someone out on a date.

But that was alright.

Yuuri can pretend.

“Oh, look!” Sara looked at her watch and began to wave goodbye. “I really have to go. Stay a little longer to watch us?”

“Of course.”

Michele and Emil followed after her, leaving Yuuri on his own yet again.

-

It didn’t get any better.

Maybe this was how it was to truly love someone to very core of your being.

That no matter how much hate had formed between you, that no matter how much pain each reminded of the other, there would still be either regret or longing once your paths crossed again.

Because no matter how or when Yuuri ever saw Viktor again, he couldn’t help but think that he was as beautiful as the day he first saw him.

His hair, long enough to be twirled and secured behind his head, was still lovely. He still looked regal in one of his older suits. Mesmerizing, despite the obvious darkening shadows under his eyes. Despite what looked to be a frailer frame. And Yuuri hated himself, because he then realized that no matter what happened, his heart would never be freed from Viktor at all.

“It’s Sara’s birthday.”

Yuuri looked up, realizing that he had been staring at the ground far too long.

And then, it was as if his system had started to malfunction. His mouth went dry, chest constricting, and he was hearing white noise.

He did not know how to react.

“She invited is to come,” Viktor had said, his hands pushed inside the pockets of his brown trench coat, looking at Yuuri with a steady gaze. “I think it would be rude if we didn’t show up.”

And how dare Viktor, to have had to tenacity to stay calm when Yuuri was close to caving in on himself. How dare he, in the few weeks that they’ve fallen apart, act like he had the strength the even start a casual conversation again.

“That’s—I can’t drink.”

“Not too late to book a hotel room,” Viktor said.

_That’s a bad idea_ , Yuuri wanted to say, but instead, he nodded. “I’ll just drive home early, then.”

At that, Yuuri saw Viktor flinch. Yuuri wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he hadn’t known Viktor for as long as he did. And Yuuri would understand, because for several years, ‘home’ was something they both referred to as theirs.

“Yurio’s up next,” Viktor said.

Before Yuuri could reply, the speakers blared up ahead, introducing Yurio as the next one to take the ice.

-

Yuuri didn’t know if being polite was the best option after all.

He had considered not coming to Sara’s little celebration dinner, but she had been excited to tell him about it and insisted that he showed up. He also couldn’t tell her he was driving, because then it would open the conversation up to questions he was really not too fond of answering. Not yet, anyway, but he was sure it was going to get there eventually.

It would have been a lot easier if it hadn’t been for the fact that the Russian team were there—those who already knew of what happened to Yuuri and Viktor—because then it would have been easy to be civil around Viktor and not feel so incredibly uncomfortable.

And because they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, they had come together, trying to make it seem like there wasn’t a humungous chassis that had formed between them. They did the same during the competition, not talking but staying in close proximity.

Close enough to avoid the press from exploding, but not close enough to rub more salt into freshly opened wounds. It won’t be long until someone noticed that Yuuri was staying in Moscow and Viktor in his old apartment, but he’d gladly enjoy his privacy while it lasted.

_What if._

They sat together in the hotel restaurant, joining the conversation and smiling when necessary, and were getting a lot of questions about how they were, their plans, and just about anything that involved a healthy married life. Mila and Yurio tried to divert their attention elsewhere whenever someone asked.

“So I heard Yakov’s retiring soon,” Emil said, pouring himself a glass of wine. They were still in the middle of the competition, but no one seemed to mind getting a glass or two. “Are you taking over?”

“I’ve been told I’m a terrible coach,” Viktor smiled, eyes sliding to Yurio, who shrugged. “It’s on the table, but I’m not sure what I’ll do. Not yet, anyway.”

“Yuuri did well,” Emil said.

Viktor visibly swallowed. “Ah, but that was all him, not me.”

“And you must be the muse that inspires winning gold.”

Yurio snorted. “I doubt that.”

“Maybe try a coach that’s got the hots for you, then,” Emil said.

It was followed by faint laughter, and even fainter ones coming from the Russian team.

“Like I said, maybe coaching isn’t for me,” he said, leaning back against the booth, accidentally brushing shoulders with Yuuri as he did. He moved away almost immediately, as if burned. “I could help with choreography, though. I’m sure Yakov can see to Yurio and Mila. If he didn’t want to, he would have already retired.”

“Then maybe Yuuri could coach them!” Sara suggested happily. “Imagine the tandem you two would make!”

The silence that followed after that was almost a blow to the chest.

Mila and Yurio were still looking up at the ceiling, Otabek was staring at his plate, and Viktor seemed to have been taken aback.

“Uh,” Viktor cleared his throat, his hand on the table clenching as he sought the right words. “We haven’t really...”

“We’ll see what happens,” Yuuri offered a polite smile, enough to keep the conversation going. Just at the right moment before the pause lengthened and became awkward.

It was apparently effective in diffusing the suddenly tense situation. With no one delving into the topic any further, Yuuri felt himself relax. And Viktor, who was now downing his fourth glass of wine, seemed more at ease than he was a few minutes ago.

This close, Yuuri could smell more than wine on him. Probably rum or vodka, but it wasn’t too clear. Maybe it was both. Yuuri wouldn’t put it beneath Viktor to drink so casually.

The chatter continued on, mindless and funny, although he didn’t really pay attention to half of what was being said.

Deciding that it was the right moment to take a breather, Yuuri excused himself.

It was, as he’s soon realize, a mistake.

He thought a quick trip to the bathroom might help him relax, to stop the pretence even just for a little bit. But now, without the sound of jazz music and mindless conversation, his thoughts had began to take over. He felt like something heavy was pressed against his chest, like someone was pushing it down with the intention to break his ribs and shatter his heart.

He walked quickly, willing himself to move, focusing on the speed of his footsteps rather than the rapid trains of thought running through his mind. He didn’t know what he needed, but he wanted to be alone for a moment, he needed a diversion, something that would take him faraway.

He needed to forget that he saw Viktor again for the first time in weeks. That he was still beautiful. That he may be the only beautiful thing Yuuri ever had in his life. It was as if Viktor was dangling in front of him, tempting him, but still very much out of his reach.

As he slipped inside the bathroom, the first thing he did was to wash his face with cold water, scrubbing at the skin until it hurt. He willed himself awake, wishing fervently that all this had been a bad dream, and that when he woke, he’d find a reason to tell Yurio he wasn’t coming to see him perform. That he was still lying around in his empty apartment, not moving at all.

All that, muddled thoughts and an upcoming panic, ceased as soon as he heard the door open.

Yuuri turned, and the things that happened after that were a blur.

One moment he was looking at Viktor, standing only a few feet away, looking at him in the eye and holding his gaze. And then, Viktor’s lips were on his the next. Like an impulse, a practiced move, Yuuri kissed back.

_What if._

He would, for several moments, forget all the terrible things that had happened to them. He would kiss him, and touch him, because Yuuri’s never gotten used to not being with him—be it their happiest or their worst. They’ve been together for such a long time, that even he forgot that they weren’t anymore.

_What if._

Yuuri would think it a mistake, if he weren’t so confused and hurting and extremely overwhelmed. The haze of it took over, but in the end, in the same fashion that Yuuri’s mind worked, it screamed at him of how terribly wrong this was.

_What if._

“Vit—” Yuuri planted his palm on Viktor’s chest, and pushed him away. “Viktor, no.”

They looked at each other, gazes heavy with meaning, although unclear as to what it might be.

This close, Yuuri could see how Viktor’s cheeks have hallowed, how there were half-moons under his eyes, how much paler he’s become. His hair was not as pristine, it looked as if it’s gone unwashed for days.

_What if._

“Yuuri,” Viktor brushed Yuuri’s cheek, both hands cupping his face. It all felt so familiar it was painful.

They can’t do this.

Yuuri put his hands over Viktor’s and removed them from his face. “Don’t—please. Don’t—”

Instead of moving away, instead of retreating, Viktor took Yuuri’s hands in his. He grasped them, palms cold but his grip firm, and kissed each of Yuuri’s knuckles. “Please,” he whispered. “I miss you, please.”

A few words, ones that were repeatedly said to him, ones he had grown to get used to after the many fights they had.

I miss you.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know what I was thinking.

I won’t do it again.

Words from various fights that involved the most laughable things. Like how Yuuri forgot to buy dish soap and Viktor got annoyed or Viktor commenting on something and Yuuri felt the need to correct it. They were trivial, often forgettable, but the argument would take a turn to other things, and then it all went worse from then on.

“ _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor whispered.

They can’t do this.

“This is—we—” Yuuri spoke, his voice very, very small.

He didn’t know if he had any fight left in him.

He wanted to shout at Viktor, but at the same time he wanted to kiss him breathless. He wanted to tell him how awful they were for each other, but at the same time, he wanted to remind him how perfect they’ve been together. He wanted to explain where they stood, what they’ve become, but he also wanted to ask if there was a chance for things to change.

“One night,” Viktor said, leaning his forehead against Yuuri’s, sharing his breath. He smelled of wine and light perfume, a scent that had slowly began to fade from around him as Yuuri continued to live on his own. “Just this once. One last time. And I’ll leave you alone. _Zolotse_ , please.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything, but the bruising kiss that he pulled Viktor into answered it for him.

And that’s how he found himself in Viktor’s hotel room, sprawled on the bed, naked and sweating and huffing desperate breaths. Viktor kissed him like it was the last. A first in a long time and a last for eternity.

“Nothing compares to you,” Viktor whispered, taking the lobe of Yuuri’s ear into his mouth and nipped at it gently. “Nothing.”

They both knew they weren’t going to back to how they once were, that Yuuri was going to drive home and Viktor was going to fly back to St. Petersburg. They were going to regret it, but there’s so many of their own past regrets that they wouldn’t mind adding one more.

And yet, Yuuri wondered—wondered if things had been different if they’d done it this way before.

_What if._

Despite all the fights and the shouting and the broken china, they had still ended up fucking each other to oblivion.

They were still fighting then, still hated each other then, but the adrenaline didn’t stop them from having sex. Viktor would kiss him hard, demanding, and rough. Yuuri would dig his nails unto Viktor’s back, scraping the skin until it bled. Viktor would bite down hard until Yuuri bruised.

This night, however, was different.

It was soothing, slow, careful. A reminder of how they once were the first time. An apology.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispered. “I am _so_ sorry.”

And then, Yuuri thought to himself, _what if_.

-

And it all of it would mean nothing the next day, when Viktor looked at him and said, “I don’t remember anything.”

-

Two months.

That’s how long Yuuri’s been living alone in his hallowed space he called home. That’s how long he’s lived on autopilot, waking because he could sleep no more and eating because it was human instinct to do so. He hadn’t gone back to the coffee shop, or had seen much of what was outside for that matter.

Yurio still visited him constantly, on weekends when he didn’t have much to do, but what changed was that he never mentioned anything about Viktor. Maybe Yurio had given up, or finally, he understood. That even though their instincts and their subconscious wanted something more, something else, something familiar again, their rational minds wouldn’t.

He was the only other person who knew about what happened the night of Sara’s birthday, and he kept a tight lip ever since.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it...” Yurio began.

“I don’t.”

“Hey, hey. Listen to me, just this once, alright?” Yurio said, no sign of irritation in his voice at all, but more like nervousness and indecision. “I’m not here to try to get you back together or something. Viktor figured you wouldn’t want a conversation on the phone but he didn’t want to come visit out of nowhere without asking you first.”

“So?”

“So...he asked me to ask you if he could come talk to you.”

He responded with a frown.

“He made sure to tell me that this isn’t about you two,” Yurio sighed. “He said it’s something to do with your family and he won’t tell what it is. Private matters, whatever. You could meet somewhere if you want to. He said you’re free to kick him out as soon as he’s told you.”

Yuuri was struck with a harsh sense of guilt all of a sudden. His father had been sick for at least a few months now, and Yuuri had kept contact with them in Japan up until the last few weeks he and Viktor lived together. He had been so consumed with his own worries that he’s left his phone uncharged for weeks.

He hadn’t checked back in _months_.

“So is that a yes or a no?” Yurio asked.

Yuuri looked up, realizing he’d forgotten about the conversation in his distraction. And then he remembered exactly what he was going to say.

“He’s already here, isn’t he?”

Yurio nodded. “He’s waiting in the car.”

“He doesn’t change,” Yuuri said—and he almost _laughed_. He couldn’t believe that despite what he was feeling, despite how badly he thought this wasn’t a good idea, he’d still find something familiar and otherwise endearing. “You can go tell him he can come up.”

-

“I expected you’d change it a little,” Viktor said, eyes wandering around the living room.

Hurrying to make do with what he had, he sifted through the cupboards and found some tea. Viktor’s favourite, of all things. “You know I’m not good with decorating,” he shrugged. “I don’t have coffee right now. Tea?”

“Yeah,” Viktor responded hesitantly, as if Yuuri asking him at all was somehow strange. “I guess I would have changed the curtains into something cheerier, at least.”

And that was what kept it painful, wasn’t it? That Viktor knew him through and through, and he was the same. Even so, as he watched Viktor cautiously walk around, his coat haphazardly slung over his arm, the light seeping through the windows hitting his face just right.

Yuuri felt things he for so long forgotten. How once upon a time, Viktor belonged there, and Yuuri was happy to see him where he stood. He was still having trouble understanding where it all went wrong.

“Hey,” Viktor said. “About what happened at the Rostelecom...”

“You didn’t come here for that,” Yuuri said, carefully scooping the right amount of jam unto two steaming cups of tea. “You wanted to tell me something about my family?”

Viktor’s eyes flashed hurt for a second, though it was quickly masked with a blank look soon after. He was the one who was better at shrugging it all off, apparently. “Your mother’s been trying to call you.”

“Yeah, that was my fault,” Yuuri managed to say, despite hating to admit how miserable he had been for the last few months. “She called you because I wasn’t picking up. What was it?”

“Well,” Viktor pushed his hands inside his pocket, voice hesitant. “Your father really wanted to see you. Said it’s been a long time since you came home...”

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Viktor nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, walking over to Viktor to hand him a cup. “I appreciate it. I’ll just—I’ll call her and maybe—”

_Go home_ , that’s what he wanted to say, but there really was no point in telling Viktor everything, was there?

And then, “I’m coming with you to Hasetsu,”

Yuuri did not expect to hear that at all. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know I’ve—we’re not, anymore,” Viktor stuttered. “But Yuuri, they’ve become my parents too.”

He found himself wanting so say, _that’s a bad idea_ , but does Yuuri have the right to? Was he really going to deny Viktor that? And though how hard it was to even think about it, his parents had loved Viktor, too. Loved him from the very beginning in fact, and if it weren’t for them he would have denied the request right away.

“We don’t have to take the plane together,” Viktor said, his hand gripping his cup of tea going rigid. “If that bothers you—”

“No, it’s alright,” Yuuri said. “You are staying in St. Petersburg, though.”

A moment of silence.

“Right,”Viktor shook his head, nodded, as if only realizing this. “Okay.”

Yuuri had to end the conversation right there. Otherwise, he was going to end up spiralling back to where he was a few months back.

“I’ll see you in Hasetsu.”


	2. Hasetsu, Part 1

Yuuri hadn’t been home in six years.

It started with a conflict in his schedule. He had called his mother and said he wouldn’t be able to stop by after the NHK Trophy that year, that there was so much to be done in preparation for the Grand Prix that he would eventually win.

She had laughed and said that she understood, told him to pursue his dreams first and foremost, and assured him they’d be waiting for the day he came home.

“I feel like I should be apologizing to Mama for keeping you,” Viktor had told him after that call, stroking Yuuri’s back as if to calm him down. “Maybe right before World’s?”

“She’s not angry,” Yuuri had said. “Maybe we’ll squeeze a weekend in? I promise to do good during practices.”

But it wasn’t so easy back then. Yuuri was still training under Viktor, and at the same time, Viktor himself was doing twice the work by training under Yakov and keeping watch of what Yuuri was doing. Add that to his usual run of the apartment and daily chores, and there was so little time left for him to even sleep properly.

“Anything for you,” Viktor had told him once, voice tired and almost groggy. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

The wait for Yuuri’s return turned into a year, then two, and then suddenly he was sending out wedding invitations to Hasetsu.

Viktor had wanted a private Spring wedding in Japan, preferably when the cherry blossoms bloomed, but the world was never too kind with two men wanting to marry. Yuuri had ended up getting his friends and family tickets to Barcelona, where his marriage to Viktor was not something people judged or despised.

He had apologized to his mother then, tearing up in his pristine tuxedo, promising to come home soon after his honeymoon. Hiroko laughed and shook her head, told him that it never mattered where they were as long as Yuuri was with them, and assured him that they’d still be waiting for the day he came home.

“Seeing you and Vicchan again,” Hiroko had said. “Wherever that is, Yuuri-kun, is enough for us. Congratulations on getting married, my dear.”

And now it’s been six whole years since he walked out of the train station in Kyushu, years since he had pushed aside coming back due to unforeseen circumstances.

Guilt washed over him like a waterfall, weighing down his heart. He thought back to the days that he called his mother to apologize repeatedly, and knew that he _could_ have gone home if had wanted to. He could have spent a whole weekend travelling to and fro and start practice on a Monday. He could have gone right after winning a competition. He could have visited them after Nationals. He could have gone soon after he retired, or chose one of the dates where Yurio wasn’t competing, or asked Viktor to book a quick flight to Hasetsu after their frequent vacations.

He could have gone, had many chances to, so maybe Yuuri was just running from something.

Because maybe, the one true reason why Yuuri held back all those years, that one obvious reason he could never bring himself to buy a round-trip ticket, was because he didn’t want to see what he had feared to.

Yuuri hadn’t taken his beloved dog’s death well before, and it hadn’t changed the day his mother told him Toshiya was dying.

It was some time after Yuuri’s first Grand Prix gold. Viktor had brought several Russian treats and was asking everyone to try them, eager to assure Yuuri’s family that things between them were going smoothly, and everyone else seemed supportive enough with the couple’s decision to move in together.

Hiroko had pulled them aside, said the news to them in a whisper, and told them not to worry about it too much. They were both understandably distraught, but unlike Viktor, Yuuri didn’t take it all too well. It wasn’t that Viktor didn’t care enough, not at all, but he was better at masking his worries by distracting himself with something else.

“It’s only natural,” Toshiya had said to him, in the dark hallways away from the rest of their family. He must have noticed the grim look on Yuuri’s face at the dinner table that night. “We all lose our parents one way or another, Yuuri-kun. But I’m still here, aren’t I? We could still spend what time we have left.”

Yuuri didn’t do that.

He did the opposite by lying to himself.

He thought he could make himself believe that everything was fine, that if he didn’t see Toshiya in person he’d be able to ignore the clear signs of a life starting to wilt down to nothing. He thought that he could make himself believe that things were fine, and his family was ready to indulge that lie, and that a quick Facetime call was going to help him heal.

But Yuuri couldn’t lie to himself.

He always noticed how much his father was losing weight, how Toshiya had started to become rather limp, how Mari had started to always appear at his side whenever Yuuri checked in with a video call. Yuuri could hear the sound of his mother’s overly-cheery voice, one that hid something much more worrying. He received messages telling him no one would be home on a weekend, Mari picking up calls and telling him his parents left for a hospital in Tokyo, and Viktor sharing worried conversations with Hiroko and Mari when they thought Yuuri wasn’t listening.

“Yuuri!”

He looked up to see Yuuko amongst the busy crowd, a lot older now, standing alongside her husband Takeshi.

Yuuri couldn’t even remember the last time he heard their voices, choosing to talk to them over text messages instead of making actual calls, and that in of itself was beginning to feel strange. The last conversation he had with Yuuko was two nights before that, when he was telling her about his plans to come home, but he hasn’t heard her voice since his wedding four years ago.

“ _Okaeri!_ ”

Yuuri blinked at them in his surprise, not knowing what to do or what to say next, until he remembered: _Oh right, Japanese._

“ _Tadaima_ ,” he said, smiling, though stiffly.

His eyes went to a delighted Takeshi, and nodded politely.

“Your mother asked us to come get you,” Takeshi offered him a smile, reached for one of Yuuri’s suitcases, and hoisted it over his shoulder. He’s gained a lot more weight since Yuuri last saw him in person, probably brought on by age and slowed metabolism. “We’ve missed you, you know. Everyone does.”

Yuuri swallowed the sudden uncomfortable feeling that boiled up at the back of his throat, pushing the guilt down before it could consume him. “I was trying to get home.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Yuuko’s eyes slid toward him, gentle and concerned, probably aware of the weight of Yuuri’s words. “You’re here, aren’t you? I’m sure the girls are excited to see you.”

Right.

“How old are they now? Fifteen?” Yuuri mused. “Wow.”

“Thirteen,” Takeshi grinned. “Chose different middle schools, too. But I guess that’s how it is when kids grow up, huh?”

Yuuri wouldn’t know what it would feel like to have children of his own, but being a teenager and a third of a constant trio might be the beginnings of young hormonal angst. He’s gotten a lot of practice from Yurio.

“We’re parked right over there,” Yuuko said, pointing at a black family car a few blocks away from the station. It’s different from the one they used to drive, Yuuri noticed, though probably a few years old now.

It was safe to say that Yuuri felt rather overwhelmed by the rush of memories flooding him. He took in the busy image of normalcy in front of him, of young high school students in their uniforms, of employees running around and checking their watches, of the distinct chattering sounds of conversations in Japanese.

Some people did recognize him, more than usual in places that he’s been to, and he was more than willing to sign autographs and take pictures with people when they asked.

“Look at you, celebrity,” Yuuko nudged him playfully. “I’ve seen you’ve gotten used to the attention.”

It was all both strangely familiar and alien at the same time, the passage of years indicated by the ever so slight changes around him—newly painted walls, smoothly cemented pavements, various buildings that weren’t there before. It was like coming home to something different, away for too long, enough that Yuuri sometimes wondered if the changes he was noticing have always been there at all.

“You know,” Yuuri muttered as they were heading for the parked car. “You guys really didn’t have to.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, we’d come get you,” Takeshi grinned. “Besides, you haven’t been here in so long we thought you might get lost.”

-

Upon his arrival at the Yu-topia, Yuuri was instantly showered with attention he didn’t deserve.

His mother had come running to him, her smile eager and her embrace warm, repeatedly thanking the heavens for having brought Yuuri home. Minako stood waiting as well, badgering him about not coming home soon enough, her face starting to show laugh lines and signs of age.

Toshiya had also welcomed him then, leaning heavily against Mari, his body bent forwards in ways that never did before. He aged. Far too much.

“I thought you might be home soon,” Toshiya said, chuckling a little, though his voice was clearly less spirited than that in Yuuri’s memories.

Yuuri had the sudden urge to fall unto his knees and ask his father’s forgiveness. And why wouldn’t he?

Toshiya, however, looked like he never sought that kind of apology. He looked like he was more than thankful for this chance to see his son again, all smiles and laughing eyes. With Mari’s help, he was able to walk far enough to welcome Yuuri with open arms.

The last one to greet him was Viktor, already dressed in the usual green robes, his stance a little hesitant. He stepped out into the receiving area, his body language awkward but not cold, eyes going straight to Yuuri’s luggage.

“Let me help you with that,” he had said, still looking away. And then, his voice dropping a little, he said, “Where should I put them in?”

“Can you put them in your room for the mean time?”

Yuuri had spoken in Russian, deliberately, with the intent to make sure the conversation stayed between them.

Viktor’s eyes had widened momentarily, like he hadn’t expected it. Viktor arrived before him, so he already must have known that Yuuri hasn’t spoken a word about their very recent split. He had looked all too hesitant as well, so that must have meant he didn’t take up to responsibility to tell his in-laws about it.

“I’ll make sure to tell them later,” Yuuri had said, his voice low and careful, eyes wary of anyone else trying to listen in.

“Yes,” Viktor had replied, still muttering in Russian. “That would be best.”

Yuuri’s old bedroom had long been converted into storage space since he and Viktor got engaged.

Guests were beginning to come more frequently, and the onsen had started to run out of places to store toiletries and other supplies. Yuuri’s family had kept the banquet hall as it was, still filled with Viktor’s belongings, always saving the room for when their sons came to visit.

“Make sure you boys hurry downstairs after you unpack,” Hiroko approached them both, breaking the tension Yuuri didn’t know existed, her expression still clueless about the whole wreck that had become of his son’s marriage. “I’ll have breakfast ready in about thirty. I hope you’re hungry!”

Yuuri saw Viktor’s eyes soften, his face drained of worry and replaced by fondness. A familiarity that have always been there since the first time he came to Hasetsu. “You know I’m always hungry, Mama.”

-

“How is your apartment in Moscow, by the way?” Hiroko asked, gently placing an extra large bowl of Katsudon in front of Yuuri. It smelled like home. “Any trouble with the neighbours?”

Yuuri swore he felt his chest constrict in that very moment, wanting to end it with a quick confession and hope that no one ever talked about it ever again.

But he looked around and saw that everyone was happy to be there, and he would never wish it upon anyone to have their sudden bouts of happiness disappear so quickly.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak, but his voice had failed him in his indecision.

“It’s a good neighbourhood, Mama,” Viktor answered for him, which he normally wouldn’t have. “Our neighbours are usually business people who aren’t home all the time. But there’s a nice lady that brought us food sometimes, though.”

“But it’s not really a neighbourhood, though? I thought you had wanted a town house?”

“Right now, the available ones are too far away from the city,” Viktor replied. “You know neither of us are going to survive without a nearby rink.”

Hiroko laughed. “Well, that is true.”

“Maybe next time, then? I’ve never had a backyard before, so that might be something to look forward to.” He looked to Yuuri, his tone indicating the need for reassurance or agreement, seemingly happy—and then, as if a sudden realization had hit him hard, Viktor’s face changed.

Yuuri knew that for a split-second, Viktor had forgotten all their troubles. For a split-second, he had thought everything was fine—that they were back home in Hasetsu, with family, and everything was right back where they were before.

And Yuuri might have forgotten as well.

It was easy to, seeing Viktor in the green robes much like the ones he wore when they fell in love. This was how Yuuri had known him for who he was, had loved him beyond what was said in magazine articles and tabloids. This had been the Viktor he would come to know as his husband, long forgotten in the depths of their many fights and misunderstandings.

“Y-yeah, maybe next time,” Yuuri looked to his mother, with the intent to look away from Viktor.

Hiroko looked fond, as did Toshiya, who had both nodded their approval on the matter.

-

“ _When do we get to meet our grandchildren, Yuuri-kun?”_

“ _Shouldn’t you ask Mari first?”_

“ _Hey, you got married first, kiddo.”_

“ _I’ve only been married last year!”_

“ _And living with your boyfriend for four years. I bet the next we’re calling you, you’ll have kids named after some weird skaters or something like that.”_

-

The dinner was long and excruciating. As expected, they were flooded with questions about their new apartment, that new car the purchased, their condolences for losing Makkachin.

They were very eager to know about Yurio, about Viktor’s plans for the future, about Yuuri’s skill in the Russian language. Yuuri was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable as time dragged on, lying through his teeth with the finesse of a practiced tortured soul.

Viktor was beginning to retreat from the conversation as well, growing more and more silent as Yuuri spat out more and more lies. He realized then, that it was going to get harder to get the truth out, and that he was only setting his family up for eminent devastation.

“Well, Yuuri. I hope you’re feeding Vicchan,” his mother had said, looking over the both of them across the table. “He looks like he hasn’t been eating for days. Are you that busy?”

Viktor was scratching his cheek, feigning embarrassment or something like that, smiling shyly. It was the first time he had spoken in what seemed to be a long time. “I’ve been spending too much time on the ice lately,” he said. “I’m pretty hands-on when it comes to coaching—or trying to be a coach—and my stamina’s not what it used to be.”

Mari snorted. “ _Hands-on_.”

“Mari-san!” Viktor gasped, his Japanese clear, crisp, and fluent. The fruit of his many, many years with Yuuri forever ingrained in the words that he spoke. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but that is not true!”

“I know,” she smirked. “I wouldn’t have let you marry this kiddo if you were doing anything sleazy.”

“Sleazy is a very strong word,” Viktor laughed.

“Untoward.”

They will not hate him. Yuuri knew that.

No, they love Viktor far too much.

Hiroko would probably comfort them both, pull them aside, and ask them what she could do to help with moving their stuff from the apartment. She’d probably feel sorry for them, but won’t force them to fix anything, and would gladly tell Viktor she’ll continue to contact him even if started anew with a different man.

She’d protect them from the tabloids, will call the both of them each week, would make sure that none of them were skipping meals.

So it wasn’t that holding Yuuri back, isn’t it?

It wasn’t what drove him to spend the rest of the day helping in the kitchen, volunteering to buy food at the market, spending the rest of the afternoon on the beach. It wasn’t what held him back from ever saying anything to his family up until dinner, up until he was washing the dishes, up until everyone was settling down for the night.

It was that one moment that day, when he saw his father holding up a glass of water for toasting, clinking his glass against Viktor’s bottle of sake, that Yuuri realized he never wanted to ruin that for any of them.

Maybe—just maybe, he could suck it up for a day or two, break down crying right before he left for Russia, and then avoid having to explain anything to anyone ever again.

Maybe if he tried long enough, his family was going to stop missing him, was going to stop feeling the joy of seeing him again, and will be ready to face whatever sad but honest truth Yuuri was about to tell them.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Viktor’s voice came from behind him.

Yuuri looked up to see him standing by the doorway, leaning heavily against the doorframe of the main entrance, eyes looking down to where Yuuri sat on the steps. It took moments before he realized Viktor had spoken to him in Russian again, though his voice was small and weak, as if he was still wary of anyone listening in.

“I know,” Yuuri had said.

He knew what Viktor had meant. Night had come and was shrouding over Hasetsu’s open skies, his family relaxed and ready to sleep. If there was a perfect moment to tell them about the state of his marriage, it would have been right then and there, but something else was pulling him back.

An unknown something that had been tugging at his chest the whole time he was there.

“I—I don’t know what to tell them, Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes were sad.

Yuuri noticed that the dark circles around Viktor’s eyes were clearing up a bit, although that didn’t mean it still wasn’t there. He still wasn’t too happy about what had happened to them, but maybe—even if just temporarily—this visit to Japan had cleared his head.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Viktor spoke in one hurried breath, as if he didn’t want Yuuri to hear what he had actually said. “It’s fine. You can tell them tomorrow, or—or whenever you’re ready.”

Yuuri’s mouth opened. Closed shut.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to feel. He kept telling himself how bad that idea was, how he had sworn to never find himself in the same bed as Viktor again.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri had said. “I’ll make sure to tell them tomorrow.”

-

There was something strange about waking up in the morning. That groggy state of mind where you didn’t know where you are or when you had fallen asleep.

Yuuri found himself lying facedown at the very edge of the bed, too close to falling off, eyes opening to Viktor’s sleeping form on the floor right next to him. It’s been weeks since Yuuri woke up and the first person he saw was Viktor. Months since Yuuri had woken up before Viktor did.

He was feeling warm underneath the white covers, surrounded by the scent of Viktor’s favourite fabric conditioner. It was a strange first thought to have. It wasn’t something he would have noticed too much months before.

It was a strange feeling that had its own brand of familiarity, a thing that’s never been out of the ordinary. He had once thought that if he kept waking up with Viktor beside him, there was still a chance for them both to fix things.

“Yuuri,” Mari’s voice came through.

Yuuri had momentarily panicked, looking behind quickly to check if the doors were locked, and was relieved to know that it was. The last thing he wanted to do that morning was to let Mari know about his situation far too early than he was ready for.

He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and dry, and called out, “Yeah?”

“ _Okaa-san_ ’s preparing breakfast,” she said. “You two can continue your pillow talk later.”

“We’ll be right there,” he said.

“I mean it, Yuuri,” she said. “If you’re not downstairs in ten, I’m sending _her_ to come get you.”

Although unnecessary, Yuuri waited for the sound of Mari’s footsteps to fade. He didn’t know why he had to do that.

He reached over to Viktor, thought about gently shaking him awake, but had instinctively retracted his hand. He didn’t know what he felt like he needed to do that, too.

“Viktor,” he whispered. “Viktor, wake up.”

Viktor hummed. “Yes, _Zolotse?_ ”

Yuuri stopped. He thought his heart might have stopped as well.

Was this a joke? Was Viktor trying to get to him?

Feeling a sudden surge of either anger or despair, Yuuri swung his legs off to the side of the bed, his feet touching the tatami mat silently. He was about to just walk out of the room, when he looked back again, and sighed.

He could always pretend he never heard it.

He was so good at it at this point, pretending.

“Viktor, wake up.”

Viktor didn’t move.

“Vit-Viktor,” Yuuri repeated.

Nothing.

Sighing, he went to Viktor again and knelt beside him. “Viktor, I know you’re awake.”

No movement at all. Viktor’s breathing was steady, eyes closed, face relaxed. He _was_ asleep.

Yuuri didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.

He reached over, biting his cheek, pushing down whatever unnecessarily anxious thoughts that were going on inside his head. He touched Viktor’s arm, much thinner from the last time he remembered, and shook him gently.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, come on. You need to get up for breakfast.”

A groan.

“Viktor...”

Viktor’s eyes fluttered open. His thick eyelashes stuck together a little, like it had been soaked with tears. He blinked a couple of times, his blue eyes wondering around in confusion for a few seconds, before they landed on Yuuri.

“Oh,” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep, not quite awake yet. “It’s that time?”

“Not really,” Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know why that was. “You know my family’s a flock of early birds.”

Viktor groaned. “And here I thought _I_ was the morning person.”

He was. He always was.

“Come on,” Yuuri said. “I’ve been warned _okaa-san_ will come up here and barrage us into coming down for breakfast.”

“I’d never doubt she would,” Viktor chuckled, hauling himself up slowly. “Isn’t that how she found us out?”

“Gave us both a lecture, too.”

A smile started to form on Viktor’s face, his expression lighthearted. His skin was still pale, like he hadn’t seen enough sun for a long time, but he looked better. “Mari also demanded that I helped in the kitchen from then on.”

Yuuri snorted. “She was treating you like family, not like a guest.”

“I know,” Viktor said. “That’s when she started teasing me. Then shovel talk. Then back to teasing me.”

“Ah, but you know she’ll never hurt you,” Yuuri found himself dropping to the floor, sitting across from where Viktor was. He felt his lips tug upwards into a smile as well. “You knew Mari’s actually a softie.”

Viktor had laughed, right before his expression went sour.

Yuuri recognized it so quickly, as if he was feeling what the Viktor was feeling at the same time. The spell was broken yet again, a delicate moment of forgetting, swiftly broken by reality.

“She could never hate you,” Yuuri said.

“I know.”

“And my parents won’t.”

“I know,” Viktor sighed. “I did underestimate how much I could hate myself, though.”

His hand went to his hair, fingers running through them, and Yuuri saw what he didn’t need to see—a small spot on Viktor’s ring finger, the skin lighter than the rest of his hand, where a ring used to be.

“Come on,” Yuuri said, adding finality to his tone. There was no way he was going to let it go towards something he was not ready to face just yet. “We need to come down.”

Maybe in the future, he thought. Maybe they could become friends again. Maybe they’ll find different people and start anew. Maybe run into each other and grab coffee, catch up, be happy for the new things that have come their separate ways.

Maybe.

-

“Vicchan, do you think you could help us with the plumbing?”

Viktor looked up from his bowl of rice. “Something wrong with the pipes?”

“I don’t know,” Toshiya replied. “I mean, I could look at it myself if—”

“ _Papa_ ,” Viktor cut in, but none too harsh. “You know you could leave these things to me.”

Hiroko smiled.

“Anyway, aren’t we always having problems with those?” Viktor said. “Maybe it’s time we replaced them. Is the hardware store down the street still open?”

 _Tomorrow_ , Yuuri thought. _We’ll tell them tomorrow_.

-

Yuuri had ended up coming along, mostly because Viktor was likely to forget something. He had always found that to be endearing about him. It’s a flaw, true, but Viktor was not flighty nor dumb. People forget things whenever they’re overwhelmed or distracted, so it’s really not something out of the ordinary.

All those tabloids that painted Viktor like a dumb blonde didn’t know any better.

“How about these?” Viktor asked, pointing at a sample of a steel pipe mounted on the wall. “That way we can avoid rust.”

“And don’t forget the elbow pipes,” Yuuri said.

Viktor held up an appropriately-sized connecting pipe similar to the ones on display. “Three of them?”

“Four.”

“Right,” Viktor shrugged. “You know, if I had gone alone, I would have ended up buying more of each to make sure I’m not short on anything.”

“What would you do without me.”

“Indeed,” Viktor looked up at him with a smile, but his gaze heavy. “Hey, you think we could stop by the beach today? It’s been a long time—”

Yuuri tried to cut in, but his voice came out inaudibly weak.

“—I haven’t really been out these days.”

And then, Viktor paused.

And then, a realization.

“Yurio’s practice schedule’s a bit tight lately,” Viktor cleared his throat, mind suddenly in haywire. He was looking for an excuse, something to help him backtrack. “And I’ve been choreographing and been on the ice with him most of the time so...It’s usually dark when we’re done and—well, I’ll be too tired by then. So...”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Yuuri smiled. “We can drop by after we’re done here.”

-

“ _An hour.”_

“ _What?”_

“ _I’ll be out for an hour. Is that enough for you to pack your things? Do you need more—”_

“ _Yeah, that’ll be—that’s enough.”_

“ _Are you sure you don’t need help loading them to the hauling truck?”_

“ _No. Thank you, but, ah—yeah, I’ll be gone by the time you’re back.”_

“ _Be careful.”_

“ _Thank you, Yuuri.”_

-

They were on the beach again.

Had they been on a cheerier mood, Viktor might have already started running for the water. There was so many good memories that they had on that beach, Yurio too. But this was not a day for happiness, not for them.

And as Yuuri sat on the sand, still damp from noontime’s tides, he realized he hasn’t been outside for a long time, too.

To which he didn’t mean he didn’t stay outside and observed the world around him, but most _literally_ so. Yuuri had gone on to pay his bills online, did housework when he was bored, had food delivered on the rare chance that he felt like he needed to eat. The only other times he’s ever been outside was when he went to Yurio’s competition and when he needed to pay his credit card bills. Those were also the only other times he’s ever paid so much for his credit cards before, since both he and Victor mostly preferred paying in cash.

Well, at least he’s saved a lot of money on gas.

“Do you think it all began with Makkachin?”

Yuuri blinked to Viktor in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” Viktor gestured at nothing in particular, his eyes cast down. “You think that we—that our problems began when we lost Makkachin?”

“Viktor—”

“I just wanted to know,” Viktor shook his head. “We can’t go on like this, Yuuri. It’s not a problem that needs to be solved, I know. It’s just—I don’t understand where we went wrong.”

Yuuri didn’t understand either.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, drowned only by the sounds of waves and seagulls. Again, it was one of those things that reminded him of the first time he saw Viktor for who he was as a person. The place, now changed a bit, where they had their first serious conversation, where Yuuri fell more and more in love.

“Was it because I spoke too much? Was I often out of line? Did I spend too much money on clothes or something?” Viktor continued on. “Were you feeling pressured when I brought up kids?”

Yuuri had promised himself not to talk about anything like this to Viktor, that it would hurt him more—that it would hurt the both of them more than it already had. But the heart wasn’t so easily reasoned with, was it?

“I wasn’t against—” Yuuri was looking down, hesitant almost. He cleared his throat again, willing the words to come to him. “I wasn’t against having kids, you know. In fact, I was so happy you mentioned it back then.”

Viktor seemed rather surprised.

“I was—when I was younger, I felt really insecure about liking boys. I always thought I was going to end up alone, and even if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure my partner...my husband would want children of our own,” he said. “But it got me thinking...Viktor, what would happen to those children when they grow older? Would they get bullied in school because they had two fathers and not one? Were they going to be ashamed of us? Were they going to hate us because—why, of all people, were we the ones who had ended up adopting them?”

Viktor blinked. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”

“Because I knew, one way or another, either you or I was going to convince...me that it would be fine. I was—I—” Yuuri said. “I was happy and lucky to found you. I was lucky that we both had people supporting us, fans who’d defend us. But those kids...”

Viktor inhaled sharply. “You weren’t wrong to think that.”

“Was I? Did I ruin us because I was overthinking?”

“No. No, Yuuri—” Viktor’s hand shot out, as if to take Yuuri’s, but he pulled back almost immediately. “You were just being kind. You thought about other people when I didn’t, and that’s it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Hey, listen to me,” Viktor said. “You said that it’s best to leave this alone and not get back together, so what’s the point if I lied? I wouldn’t be able to keep you even if I did.”

Viktor wasn’t the only one who lied to save their marriage. Yuuri did, too. He did a lot of that.

Yuuri told him he didn’t mind if Viktor forgot to wash the dishes, or spent too much time on his phone, or bought furniture without asking first. Yuuri told him things were fine by him even if it weren’t.

Viktor once insisted his flight got delayed instead of telling Yuuri about the drunken stupor he was in the night before—an honest mistake, but he gladly tried to avoid disappointment by lying about it. He always apologized though he thought there wasn’t any point to doing it, told Yuuri lies for assurances sake, told him it was alright if they went out to dinner though Viktor was too tired.

“Can I be honest with you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri found this sentence to be a little to heavy, loaded with something else, a prologue to something he might not like; but he nodded anyway.

“I still love you.”

No.

_I wouldn’t be able to keep you even if I did._

“Viktor—”

“Please, let me finish?” he pleaded. “I’m not saying this because I’m asking for something. I’m not saying this with hopes you’ll come back to me. I’m just saying it because it is what it is, and if I want to get over you, I’d have to be honest with myself.”

Viktor’s eyes were glassy, hurt. Still, he went on. “You _know_ I do. And if we’re going to go on pretending like this, we’re going to end up parting ways with no resolution at all. So I’ll make it clear to you from here on out,” he said, sighing. “I still love you, but I’m doing my best to let you go. Maybe in time, I will. Right now, it’s not. So you can’t expect me to be perfectly good at hiding it.”

Yuuri almost wanted to laugh. “You were always bad at hiding what you felt.”

“I know that,” Viktor said. “And please, from here on out, be honest with me. If I said anything wrong, if you don’t want something, say it. I’ll get over you. So can we just—Christ—”

Unexpectedly, almost unceremoniously, Viktor had kissed him.

Yuuri hadn’t moved, hadn’t kissed back. His thoughts were running so fast it incapacitated him from moving at all.

He thought he might have pushed Viktor away, or he drew back, or told him to stop. Yuuri didn’t know which one he did, but the important thing was that it ended before Yuuri’s mind went the other way.

“What were you—” And Yuuri closed his mouth shut.

Viktor was cradling his head, fingers running through his hair, looking down unto the sand. Yuuri could recognize the faint sounds of crying, of Viktor trying to steady his voice, of trying to hold back tears.

So many times, he’s seen it before. Far too much.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said. “I’m sorry—I’m—”

Yuuri could barely move. He could feel his teeth clacking, his lips shaking. He didn’t know whether he wanted to walk away or to ask more questions, didn’t know if it were wise to speak or do anything at all.

Goddammit, Yuuri did love him.

But that’s irrelevant now, isn’t it?

“It’s getting late,” Yuuri said, rather stiffly. “You promised you’ll fix the pipes today, didn’t you?”

-

“ _What do you think,_ Zolotse? _”_

“ _Of course.”_

“ _Does that—?”_

“ _Of course, I want to have children, Vitya.”_

“ _You know I was joking about the ‘as soon as possible’ part, right? We’ll adopt when we’re ready.”_

“ _Yeah.”_

-

The day went on with a strange normalcy to it.

Viktor changed the pipes as Toshiya stood on one corner to keep him company, Yuuri stayed in the restaurant area to help with accommodations, Mari did some laundry, and Hiroko served food to the onsen’s guests. The TV was glowing in the background, playing a soccer game or something Toshiya liked, and the mindless chatter amongst the guests drowned out any noise beyond the space of Yuuri’s make-believe.

The said normalcy of it all, in fact, even made its way to Viktor and Yuuri’s interactions. They talked when Yuuri dropped by the kitchen, sometimes Yuuri helped before he left for the counter again, none of them really mentioning anything about what was said much earlier that day.

Maybe he could go on pretending like this, maybe he can choose not to tell his family, and leave them in peace when it was time to go.

_What if._

Nighttime came in and Viktor was helping him with the dishes, the only sound breaking the silence was of the soft clinking of plates and glassware. A weird occurrence for them both, because as strange as it may sound, they never did dishes together before.

“Mari told me they’re going to the hospital tomorrow,” Viktor said, almost as if he was talking at the wind, his attention still focused on the task at hand. “They’ll be gone three days, I think.”

“And?”

“Mama said they’d usually close the onsen while they’re gone,” Viktor replied. “I mean, I can’t handle the kitchen—you know I can’t cook—but maybe we can keep the baths open, at least.”

Yuuri paused. “And did you tell them that?”

“No,” Viktor shrugged. “I wanted to ask you first.”

And the most painful part of it all, was that at the back of Yuuri’s head, he kept wondering—he wondered how things would have been if this kind of conversation between them had happened more often. He kept on counting the endless times they fell into arguments about not asking the other before making any decisions.

And then, _what if_.

“It’s alright,” Yuuri said, drying the plates as Viktor handed them off to him. “With the kitchen closed, it won’t be that busy. Maybe we can serve drinks and the usual snacks?”

“I can do that.”

“And maybe I’ll be at the front desk to look over the gift shop and the hot springs at the same time?” Yuuri said, and then suddenly realized how he had gotten so carried away. “Or we could just close the kitchen and the restaurant altogether. I don’t think the two of us could—”

“Hey, if your mother and Mari could do this on their own, we can too,” Viktor said, washing the dish soap from his hands. “It’s the least we could do, don’t you think?”

Yuuri felt instantly offended. “Are you—”

“No, I didn’t mean to insult you, Yuuri,” Viktor said. “We haven’t visited in a long time, and that wasn’t all you. It’s both our mistake. We should have tried more.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri had ended up saying, although he didn’t know what for.

But that wasn’t at all new. He’s been apologizing for a lot of things just because he thought he needed to. They really should have tried more.

“Me too,” Viktor had said. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Somehow, somewhere along the conversation, the topic had changed. And Yuuri knew exactly what it was about. He wasn’t going to indulge it though, he’d said far too much on the beach that day, and he wasn’t about to take it any further than that.

No words spoken, no damage done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally made a tumblr centred on this ao3 account:
> 
> HMU [@anna-domini](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can send me prompts and questions over there.
> 
> -
> 
> Also, if by any chance you're wondering when the hell I'm updating [Attitude or Arabesque](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989501/chapters/24475152), it's underway. I just hit an annoying roadblock lately and had ran out of _escitalopram_.


	3. Hasetsu, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did say my chapter counts were lies.

The reality of his decision to look after the onsen set in—but only after he watched the family SUV drive away.

Yuuri still wore his clothes, always adamant about not liking Yu-topia’s staff robes, and his feet were bare and cold. Viktor, however, had opted to change into one of the spare ones Mari had given them, and was looking at himself in the mirror.

“You look fine,” Yuuri said, picking up the ledger and took note of the incoming deliveries he had to look out for.

He really didn’t know how the next three days was going to turn out, but Yuuri hoped he could at least come out of it with the Yu-topia still standing. He may have grown up knowing how the business worked, but he’s never really tried his hands on it.

“Really?” Viktor turned around once more, looking at himself, adjusting the sleeves unnecessarily. His hair was tied into a loose bun, stray strands finding their way on the sides of his face. “This colour washes me out.”

“I didn’t think that would be a concern.”

“How about the green ones? I liked them!”

“Viktor, those are for the guests,” Yuuri took note of a few deliveries that day, mostly just ingredients and beverages. “Besides, you’ll mostly be in the kitchen.”

“And delivering laundry,” Viktor’s nose scrunched up. “If someone were to, say, flood the bathroom...am I supposed to clean that up?”

Yuuri didn’t say a word.

“Oh my god,” Viktor said. “You purposely called dibs on the onsen and the gift shop because you knew this would happen!”

“ _Hey_ ,” Yuuri turned. “I did not. You said you wanted to look after the kitchen, so that only means you can’t be on the reception area.”

Viktor proceeded to look into the kitchen, apparently checking the drawers, but Yuuri didn’t know what he was looking for. He went shuffling about, reaching for odd corners as he went, until he came upon a pair of pink latex gloves.

“Hah!” Viktor raised the gloves in his small triumph. “Found them!”

“What are those?”

“I was not made aware of my doom.”

“Oh, come on,” Yuuri found himself laughing. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Suzuki-san has a four-year-old who likes to spill things.”

“That’s not hard,” Yuuri said. “The tatami mats though...”

“What if someone had a bad stomach and trashed the bathroom?”

“Viktor...”

“And this person literally drops an unflushable bomb. Christ. Do we even have a plunger? I’m sure there is, Mari-san would make sure of that, but I don’t know where she keeps them,” Viktor went on, slipping his hands into the gloves, and then flexing his fingers as if to test if they fit him. Those were the gloves Hiroko used for gardening, but Yuuri didn’t have the energy to point that out. “Look, I’m not complaining, but I do love to eat with my hands, thank you very much.”

And the day went on like that. No hurdles, no arguments, no strangely uncomfortable moments. It helped that the kitchen was closed—god help them if it wasn’t—but all in all, things were going fine.

Viktor was a lot more charming than Mari had been, meeting people and finding fast friends as he delivered fresh towels. When he ran out of things to do in the morning, he went on to prepare lunch for the both of them; it wasn’t much, but at least there was comfort in knowing that they weren’t about to starve in the next three days. Viktor also spent most of the afternoon doing laundry, muttering about how the sheets smelled fine and “ _I’m sure no one will notice we reuse it_.” Leave it to Viktor to overwork, though that wasn’t a bad thing at all.

Surprisingly, Yuuri was doing quite well. He made sure not to leave the reception area, welcomed the guests, and was even recognized by a few people when they came in. Hasetsu was such as small town that it made it possible to know everyone. He might have seen a few unfamiliar faces, mostly the younger ones, but his reputation in the skating world has led even those he didn’t know to ask him for autographs.

“How long before we close the hot springs?” Viktor appeared from the kitchen, more of his hair escaping his loose hair tie. He seemed rather tired, his staff robes a little weird and crumpled, but otherwise looking accomplished.

Yuuri checked the time and the ledger. “In about two hours, I think,” he said. “Why?”

“I might need some help with the bed sheets,” Viktor sighed, dropping unto the floor next to Yuuri, his back against the reception table. “All I can see was white for five hours. All I can smell was lavender soap. You should really tell Mari to switch laundry detergents.”

And for a moment, Yuuri wanted to stop and ask, _why are you doing this_?

Because this was not how he expected their trip to Japan was going to be. He did not expect them to talk like it’s a normal day for the both of them, like they haven’t been living apart for weeks, and that they each haven’t broken anything in a fit of rage.

But why would Yuuri do that? There was no reason for him to. They were doing fine, they were keeping the onsen afloat, and they were making sure Mari wasn’t about to come back in tears.

So maybe, it was alright for them to be okay, even just for a while.

“You can always come grocery shopping with her,” Yuuri said. “She only gets the stuff that she thinks smells good.”

“It does,” Viktor muttered. “Smell good, I mean. It also doesn’t work at all. Did you know I had to spend a few minutes scrubbing at ketchup stains? Any more of this and I’m resorting to bleach.”

“Wait,” Yuuri blinked. “You didn’t use bleach?”

“No?”

“You were washing white cloth and you didn’t use bleach,” Yuuri deadpanned.

“Bleach ruins the fabric, Yuuri!” Viktor looked _extremely_ horrified. “If you kept doing that, the blankets are going to end up becoming as thin as paper!”

Yuuri cradled his face in his hands, feeling a comical headache about to appear out of nowhere. “You know what, why don’t you sit down and eat? I’ll help you with the laundry later.”

-

“ _Yuuri, we’re doing laundry today!”_

“ _Is that my tie?”_

“ _No...”_

“ _Viktor, why is it in the garbage?”_

“ _...it belongs there, Yuuri.”_

“ _Viktor...”_

“ _I’ll buy you a new one!”_

“ _Nope.”_

“ _Why are you sorting through garbage, that’s disgusting.”_

“ _Because it’s my favourite tie.”_

“ _It’s your only tie.”_

“ _Hence, my favourite. Now, come on, let’s get this machine going before we walk Makkachin.”_

-

Yuuri fell down and ate ice.

He thought he was lost for a moment, wondering where he was, until his attention was brought to his phone. It was ringing loudly, echoing inside the quiet rink, and had apparently distracted him mid-jump.

Pushing himself up, he dusted flakes of ice off of his pants, and skated to the half-wall where he had left his phone. He checked the caller ID, winced, and pressed it against his ear.

“Hello,” Yuuri sighed, the feeling of dread overtaking him. It’s been a long time coming, this phone call, and he wasn’t about to run away from it.

“ _Katsuki Yuuri!_ ” Phichit’s voice came over the speakers, sounding either relieved or exasperated, but mostly just really, really pissed off. “ _Did you just fall off the face of the earth? What the hell is happening to you_?”

Yuuri swallowed. “Nothing,” he said. “I dropped my phone and never got to buying a new one. Until now, I mean.”

A pause.

“ _You know I can hear it when you lie to me, right_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Then what’s wrong? You haven’t been talking to me. I saw you come to Rostelecom and expected you’d be in_ _the_ _Finals_ _but you weren’t there. Viktor’s stopped posting on twitter and everywhere else, too,_ ” Phichit said, his tone confused rather than accusatory. Yuuri wouldn’t blame him.

“Yeah, about that...”

“ _I was_ so _excited to see you! Did you know I had the whole thing planned out only to be told you weren’t coming? I was asking Viktor about it, but he looked really stressed out._ ”

And then, when the sudden wave of worries and questions faded, Phichit turned suddenly calm, his voice dropping to a whisper. Yuuri recognized it to be a moment of understanding, one where Phichit caught himself in the middle of his thought process, inferring several answers that might explain why things were happening the way they were.

Sometimes Yuuri wished Phichit didn’t know him the way he did.

“ _Something wrong_?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Yuuri clenched his teeth, feeling his heart pounding a million times faster. There’s nothing like the feeling of concealing what you feel, of lying through your teeth, of reassuring someone you cared about that you were fine when you aren’t. “Actually, there is.”

Another pause, and then, a sigh. “ _Okay_ ,” Phichit said. “ _Do you want to tell me?_ _You know you don’t have to._ ”

“Well, otou-san’s—my father’s not feeling very well lately,” Yuuri said. Not entirely a lie, but he had used that one truth to cover up everything else. “He’s been growing really sick in the last three months and—well, right now, Viktor and I are in Hasetsu.”

The silence that followed almost drove him mad.

Yuuri felt like he was under a microscope, that Phichit was going to call his bullshit in a matter of minutes. He awaited judgement then, feeling as if the world was coming to get him.

“ _How is he?_ ” Phichit asked.

“What?”

“ _Your dad. How is he?_ ”

“He’s doing fine, Phichit,” Yuuri said. “He’s...weaker than he used to be, but he’s alright. He’s also banned from drinking any sort of alcohol.”

Phichit laughed. “ _A shame_ ,” he said. “ _I bet Viktor’s sad he lost his drinking buddy._ ”

“The best one, I was told,” Yuuri smiled. He allowed himself that. “Anyway, I’m sorry about not coming to France—or the finals. I was really preparing to fly back to Japan. I’ve been too busy paying for maintenance people, rent, monthly bills...you know, that stuff.”

Again, not a lie. But not entirely a declaration of the whole truth.

“ _It’s alright_ ,” the smile in Phichit’s voice was almost audible, his passion and optimism just leaking through every part of him. “ _And how’s Viktor, then? I saw him at the finals, by the way. Coaching Yurio?_ ”

“He hasn’t decided on it,” Yuuri replied, now doing small little figures across the ice. “He’ll continue choreographing, I think. About the coaching thing, I’m not so sure.”

“ _I’m sure he’ll be great at it,_ ” Phichit said. “ _And you? Don’t you want to try coaching_?”

“I’d be a terrible coach.”

“ _I wouldn’t jump into conclusions_ ,” he said. “ _I mean, I know you’re nervous and stuff, but you can always ask Viktor for some help, right? He’ll be at the rink as often as you_ _if_ _he’s choreographing_.”

True. Which was why Yuuri wasn’t even thinking about doing that at all.

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri kicked at the ice a little too hard, leaving a deep gash against the immaculate surface. “Or I’ll start putting that degree I worked for to good use and work full time at a hospital.”

“ _You specialized in sports therapy_.”

“A clinic, then,” Yuuri said. “I don’t know, Phichit. I’d really rather do something that doesn’t put me in front of the cameras for once. I’m done with that.”

Phichit laughed. “ _You know, if you did that, I bet the whole skating community’s going to be really, really mad at you_ ,” there was shuffling coming from the other line, like Phichit was walking or shifting things around. “ _And yes, the includes your fans and everyone else’s, mister._ ”

“Well, I think my competitive background’s going to help my business or new-found career if I decided to,” Yuuri smiled. “And don’t say it like that, Phichit. I did enjoy taking classes back in college.”

“ _Yeah, but you enjoyed skating more_ ,” Phichit said. “ _Anyway, I need to get back to training_. _Unlike you, old man, I’m still pretty much in my competitive prime._ ”

“You’ll be thirty in two years.”

“ _You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing_ ,” Phichit scoffed. “ _And don’t even get started on poor old single me. I’m saving that one after retirement. Maybe by then I won’t have to explain myself for always coming to dates late_.”

“You always come late to your dates,” Yuuri said. “That’s you over-preparing, don’t blame it on skating.”

“ _Right_ ,” Phichit snorted. “ _Because you totally didn’t get engaged to a fellow skater who knew exactly how busy you are—Oh, yeah. Celestino’s playing the ‘_ you’re doing double reps _’ card if I didn’t get off the phone. See you?_ ”

“See you soon.”

-

“Do you think we got married too young?” Yuuri asked that night, when he thought Viktor was in deep sleep. He had arrived just a few minutes past midnight, only mildly sweating from the senseless figures he’s been doing on the ice.

But surprisingly, came a response. “I can’t say for sure,” Viktor’s voice was bleary, gruff, but otherwise conscious. “Maybe we shouldn’t have rushed like the way we did.”

-

Yuuko came to visit them the next day, hauling her triplets along with her. All three girls were now grown up, taller, losing a bit of roundness on their faces.

When they were six, Viktor once admitted that he couldn’t tell them apart, mostly because of the way Yuuko dressed them. She made sure that everything they had were identical; ranging from toys to clothes to sleeping hours, not one better than the other’s.

Looking at them now, however, Yuuri found himself wondering how long it’s been since he last seen them.

All three were dressed differently, not just wearing the exact same clothes in different colours. Their demeanours were different, too—Axel was the most excitable one, Lutz was always on her phone, and Loop liked face-to-face conversations. If he were being honest, he wasn’t really looking forward to talking to anyone that day, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to see the girls.

“Viktor!” Loop perked up, eyes toward the kitchen, a very familiar smile plastered on her face. All the rest of the girls went on to run to Viktor and ask him questions, ask for autographs, take photos with him.

That had made Yuuri smile.

If there was one thing that’s gone unchanged, it was their love for Viktor Nikiforov, Living Legend of International Competitive Figure Skating. And it would be the same for Yuuri as well, no matter what his previous actions implied. Marrying Viktor did not change any of that.

“So?” Yuuko elbowed him lightly, her eyes still on the girls, her lips pulled up into a smile.

“They’re so tall,” Yuuri said. “You think they’ll be taller than me soon?”

“Maybe,” Yuuko said. “If they took after Takeshi in the height department, I really can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh no.”

Yuuko laughed. “What about you and Viktor?”

“What about us?”

“Aren’t you planning to have kids?”

Oh.

Yuuri did not know what stung the most—the fact that he was about to lie to Yuuko’s face again, or to pretend that things were fine, or that he was about to admit something that was once true so long ago.

“We’ve talked about it,” Yuuri admitted. “We’re both really busy right now, though. I wouldn’t expect anything from us in that department for at least a few more years.”

“Hey, guess what,” Viktor said, smiling at the triplets. “I brought you girls something! Do you want me to go get them?”

And Yuuri had seen Viktor talk to those girls when they were much younger, had seen him handle them so well you would have thought he grew up with seven sisters. And even at that moment, even as the girls were a little older, there was something about the way that Viktor interacted with them that spoke of his ability to handle children.

He was more than capable to have his own, maybe not with Yuuri, may not right at the moment; but Yuuri had the feeling that Viktor Nikiforov would make a wonderful father.

“I’m sure you’ll be great at it, Yuuri,” Yuuko said, as if she had read the goings-on in Yuuri’s mind. “I know you’re thinking—I know you’re afraid you can’t pull it off, but you can. You and Viktor,“ she looked to the triplets again, with Viktor reappearing, handing them paper bags filled with little trinkets covered in Cyrillic labels. “You’re both going to be great parents. I’m sure of it.”

Were they?

Yuuri smiled tightly, aware of the coiling panic that have started crawling from his stomach toward his chest, a sign of eminent explosion.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said.

And that was that.

-

“So, no deliveries tomorrow?” Viktor looked down at the ledger in Yuuri’s hands, trying to peek at the notes written on the pages. He’s changed out of his staff robes, now in a white shirt and loose pants, hair still damp from a recent shower. His hair was down, pushed back but let loose, framing his pale face.

“Nope,” Yuuri said. “And people usually work on weekdays so the hot springs won’t be too busy. We’ll just have to look out for foreign tourists stopping by the gift shop, I think.”

“You’re good at this.”

He looked up to find Viktor leaning against the counter, eyes trailed on the movement of Yuuri’s hand as he wrote down his notes. And when Yuuri momentarily stopped writing, Viktor noticed immediately, and moved away.

“Sorry,” Viktor said. “I never did get to learn how to write Kanji.”

“Well,” Yuuri said, continuing to scribble down words, focusing most of his attention of the scraping sound of pen against paper. “I’m not that good at Kanji either.”

Yuuri had basically stopped writing anything in Kanji after high school. Well, he sent text messages to his sister, but that was all with the convenience of a proper phone keyboard and a quick character selection options. Most of his twenties consisted of either roman words written in English or Russian notes written in shaky Cyrilic.

“It’s better than mine,” Viktor shrugged. “Although I do have a really bad handwriting in general, so...”

“Yeah, it’s terrible.”

Viktor’s head shot up. “That’s so mean!”

“You said it yourself,” Yuuri said. “Maybe try working as a doctor if coaching doesn’t work out for you.”

“Are you calling my penmanship unreadable?”

“To be fair, doctors should be able to write legibly,” Yuuri said. “How unfortunate would that be if the pharmacists handed out the wrong medicine?”

“A tragedy, I imagine,” Viktor said. “With people suing doctors and pharmacies for negligence.”

“See?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I’ll be outside. Call me when you’re ready for dinner.”

“Bedsheets?”

“Yeah,” Viktor grimaced. “Bedsheets.”

-

Dinner was alright. Washing the dishes was alright. Preparing for bed was a routine.

Viktor was on the floor, as he usually did, still tapping away at his phone. Yuuri knew Viktor detested sleeping with anything on, but so far, he’s always come to bed with a thin shirt and pants.

“Is Yurio changing his exhibition for Europeans?” Yuuri asked.

There was no way they were going to get through that night without any form of conversation. Yuuri might be the kind of person who liked being alone sometimes, but that didn’t mean he was one to tolerate absolute silence in the midst of someone else.

“You mean, _again_? Yeah, he is,” Viktor snorted. “I’m having a feeling this is all for Otabek and nothing else.”

“To piss you and Yakov off, maybe.”

“True,” Viktor said, setting his phone down, one arm pillowing his head. He gazed up toward the ceiling, eyes faraway, his mind somewhere else completely. “Mila misses you.”

“She just likes people who don’t talk too much,” Yuuri rolled on the bed, facing Viktor’s direction, his weight supported by his arm. “Which I didn’t know was rare thing. The St. Petersburg rink is especially loud.”

“You wound me,” Viktor said. “She just likes you because you react so well when she makes fun of you.”

“Not true.”

“Are true,” Viktor smiled at him.

They were at it again. A familiar banter. A conversation like they were old friends.

Yuuri had to stop it before he became too invested in them, before he somehow found himself craving them once more.

He did not stay away for so long just to be pulled back in like this.

Without another word, he got up, and began searching his bags. He hadn’t unpacked anything, so he was still basically living in his suitcase. Viktor seemed to notice, perking up as soon as he saw what Yuuri was doing, and had pushed himself up to a sitting position.

“You’re going to the rink?”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

“Yuuri, it’s really late.”

Viktor looked rather uncomfortable, eyes looking around, looking for something. An excuse, maybe? A reason for Yuuri to stay? Yuuri had expected something akin to a command, something that would stop Yuuri in his tracks, maybe he’d even stand up to physically stop Yuuri from leaving—but it did not come.

When Viktor spoke, his voice came out shaky and weak. It sounded hesitant and defeated. “It’s too cold to be outside right now.”

“What I do is none of your business anymore, Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said.

He hadn’t intended to say that out loud.

The way he thought about it in his head hadn’t been that harsh either. Yuuri just wanted to be left alone, to be given some time.

But as he saw the hurt flooding Viktor’s blue eyes, Yuuri knew that once again, he had hurt him without meaning to.

-

Yuuri didn’t go to the rink that night.

He couldn’t be on the ice even if he wanted to, forgetting his battered skates in his rush to leave the room.

He was in no mood for skating at all; he was by no means eager to do anything but to lie down and have a cry, let his tears flow until there’s nothing left. But he couldn’t do that in his shared room with Viktor, he couldn’t do that in front of Yuuko, he couldn’t call up Phichit and risk saying all the things he really didn’t want to talk about ever again.

And so he found himself on the beach where he fell in love, where he’d surrendered his heart without meaning to, and was feeling the weight of his secrets shattering it into pieces.

Yuuri was not perfect. Far from it. He was not a perfect son or brother or husband. Yuuri was _never_ a perfect man, but Viktor was.

And he hated what he turned them into—Yuuri for the worse and Viktor a mess.

He thought about what he was going to do once he got back to Moscow, how he’s ever going to survive by putting himself back into isolation once more. And then he thought about what his parents would think if he told them he was in the middle of a marital crisis, one that cannot be undone.

He wondered what Phichit would say, what Yuuko would think, what Mari would do. He thought about the press, how the tabloids will paint stories of things they knew nothing about. He thought about how he was ever going to support Yurio from then on, how he was going to muster up the courage to show up to every competition knowing he’ll see Viktor there.

And strangely, Yuuri thought of Viktor, too.

Was Yuuri still hurting him after all? Was Yuuri, in the coarse of their marriage, the only reason why Viktor had turned from his brightest to his worst?

He thought about the things he never allowed himself to think about before.

He began to consider facing the things that he feared the most.

And on that beach where he fell in love, Yuuri poured his heart out without knowing it.

-

The sun was long up when Yuuri woke. He was in bed, wrapped up in the same white sheets that reminded him of his life with Viktor, his whole being somewhat drained. His lashes stuck together, damp and probably covered in gunk. His eyes were puffy, swollen and oddly thick, his vision less clear than it usually was.

He went to get his phone and check the time. It was ten in the morning.

Yuuri quickly got up and changed clothes, ran his fingers through his hair, making sure it was somehow presentable despite the obvious mess that he was right at that moment. Instead of heading straight for the reception table, he went to the kitchen, procured some ice cubes from the fridge, and stuck them on the skin underneath his eyes.

The last thing he wanted to happen was for Viktor to see him that morning, knowing what he looked like.

He spent about twenty more minutes in the kitchen, his stomach grumbling from the lack of food, but he was in no mood to eat. He felt something else swell inside him, something ugly just waiting to rear its ugly head, something that prevented him from ever stepping out of that kitchen.

The feeling itself was so strong he actually wanted to throw up; like if he kept one more secret hidden, he’d retch and explode and throw all caution into the air.

God, what a mess he must’ve looked like.

Pacing about nervously, he kept rubbing the ice cubes under his eyes, unaware of the cold sting. Water started to drip from where he was holding them against his skin, like he was crying, blotting his shirt.

Finally, when he felt like he couldn’t keep hiding in the kitchen anymore, Yuuri stepped out into the dining hall to find food already prepared for him. There were several plates, covered in saran wrap, and they appeared to have been there much earlier that morning.

“I bought those from across the street,” Viktor said, already standing at the reception area, thumbing through the ledgers like he had nothing better to do. He wasn’t wearing the staff robes anymore, but he was in his usual shirt and jeans, hair still in a ponytail, but somehow looking a lot less put together. “It’s gone cold. You can use the microwave if you want to eat them hot.”

“No, it’s alright,” Yuuri said. “Any customers?”

“No one’s come for the hot springs yet.”

It was so, so silent after that.

Yuuri almost didn’t feel his hands beginning to tremble, his throat closing. Viktor was so cold, so detached, like he really didn’t want to do anything with Yuuri at all.

And the cruelest of all, the thing that had haunted Yuuri from the very beginning, was that it reminded him of the same place they were a few months ago. That moment itself brought back so many memories of Viktor growing cold, of him talking _at_ Yuuri instead of _to_ him, and them pretending things were all still a part of a routine they cannot break.

As he sat, he could feel the tears coming back to his eyes. He wanted to run away and never stop, thought about it, imagined himself doing it. But the reality of it was inescapable, wasn’t it? It was a black hole pulling them in, ripping them apart, ruining even the most beautiful of things.

“Do you want me to do the laundry today?” Yuuri asked, unwrapping the food in front of him. He wasn’t sure if his voice came out a shuddering mess, but he needed to ask that question before he did something. “You can handle reception if you want.”

“I already delivered fresh towels and sheets this morning,” Viktor replied, turned away from the conversation.

“Okay.”

-

“ _I’ll be off to do some groceries. Lunch is on the dinner table.”_

“ _Okay.”_

“ _And I’m leaving for Moscow tonight. Yakov needs help with Yurio’s jumps.”_

“ _Have you packed?”_

“ _Yeah.”_

“ _Okay. Be careful.”_

“ _Thanks.”_

-

Yuuri stepped into the backyard, hit with the strong scent of lavender and cut grass, and spotted Viktor taking down sheets that have dried. There was little hesitation when he came up to him, forcing himself to not think about it.

“I have lunch prepared,” Yuuri said. “Come to the dining hall?”

“Just one second,” Viktor said.

Viktor may have been complaining about the work he’s been doing in the past two days, but he never looked so glum. He looked like he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing either, like his mind had been pushed into an autopilot, hoping that it would take him far, far away.

“I’ll be, uh—“ Yuuri pointed at the direction behind. “I’ll set the table.”

Yuuri walked back into the dining hall, his legs suddenly weak. There was a certain uncanniness in the air, something foul and absolutely familiar, suffocating and endless.

He remembered days like this, remembered how guilt would seep into his bones, how he’d apologize repeatedly for things he didn’t know he did. He remembered living them and thinking, _‘this is it_ ’, thinking it would be the end of him and Viktor.

He wanted to cry yet again, wanted to hide himself in the kitchen and never come out until his parents came home. But that wasn’t something he could do right now. He had promised to watch over the onsen and that was exactly what he needed to do.

All he needed to think about was to ignore the sudden heaviness in the air, one the began forming again, and just avoid looking at Viktor straight in the eye.

Placing the cutlery and the plates carefully, Yuuri used most of his energy on that. He made sure everything was straight, everything was complete, the food didn’t spill from the bowls. When he saw that one of the glasses had a tiny speck of dried soap, he went on to wash it for ten minutes, ran it in water until he was sure there was no sign of soap at all, and rubbed at it until it was bone dry.

If there’s something Yuuri was great at, it was to focus his anxiousness on something else—and so he did.

“Where did you get these?” Viktor appeared in the dining hall, sweating just a little bit, and sat right across from Yuuri.

“I had them delivered,” Yuuri said. “I’m not sure if _okaa-san_ needed the ingredients on the fridge, so...”

Yuuri stopped himself before he talked too much.

In the past year, he’s learned not to push a conversation with someone who was clearly not interested. So he did that, and allowed it all to happen.

_Just one more day_ , he thought.

One more day and this would all stop.

-

Nighttime couldn’t come any faster. The number of customers were indeed comparatively fewer than the weekends, but there were enough that Yuuri had to stay stationed at the reception area. Viktor finally found his rest after ironing sheets, folding them, and carefully stacked them in the storage rooms. Yuuri didn’t see much of him for the rest of the day.

When it was time for dinner, he faced it like any normal routine. He treated it like a task that must be done, something he must do so he doesn’t find himself raiding the kitchen at night. Viktor himself had shown up, too. Very late to dinner, but he was there.

They didn’t speak much, didn’t talk over the deafening silence that filled the hall.

At this point, they would usually talk about what they did for the day, how many customers there were, what things they should take note of so they can hand everything back to Mari properly; but there was none of that. Yuuri, after all, made his point _very_ clear the night before, even if he didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

Nonetheless.

What good would it do him if he took that back?

“Are you done with those?” Viktor jerked his chin at the plates in front of Yuuri. He hasn’t looked at him in the eye for a while.

Yuuri poked at his utensils, overcome with a shock that stung from deep within. “Yeah.”

Viktor rose to his feet, and began to gather the plates and glasses. He was still looking down, his movements all precise, calculated. Viktor was now nothing more than a machine, all warmth and feeling drained out of him. “I’ll wash them.”

He tried to gather everything in one go, but when Viktor ran out of room in his arms, Yuuri stood and helped with the cleaning as well. Yuuri left the glasses he’d picked up on the kitchen counter by the sink, found a wet rag, and then proceeded to clean the table.

By that time, Yuuri’s mind had grown numb. His entire being was numb. And he thought, _that was good_. He thought that if he didn’t feel anything, he would be able to get through the night without any incident.

He went back inside the kitchen to wash the rag, only to accidentally knock over a glass, which in turn shattered to the floor.

Yuuri didn’t know why, but he felt like he was suddenly hearing white noise.

He kept expecting Viktor to look at him and frown, to push his way out of the kitchen and find something to clean the mess that Yuuri made. On the tip of his tongue, Yuuri wanted to say an apology. He wanted to fall down to his knees, wanted to cut himself on the shattered glass, and tell Viktor he was sorry. It was both terrifying and unpleasant, a feeling of foreboding, and expectation of something horrible.

But instead, Viktor’s reaction was a blank stare. Yuuri didn’t know which was worse.

“I’ll get the broom,” Viktor said, moving quickly out of the kitchen, and swept the broken glass carefully as soon as he returned.

“Let me put that in the garbage,” Yuuri said, reaching for the pan.

Viktor pulled his hand away. “I’ll do it.”

And then, he felt it. Somewhere in Yuuri’s heart, something snapped.

“Why are you doing that?”

For the first time that day, Viktor looked at him.

His eyes were darker somehow, the lines underneath them more prominent, his frown a lot more visible. Yuuri knew that something inside Viktor had broken as well, almost at the same time as Yuuri did.

Finally, Viktor spoke. “This isn’t just about the glass, is it?”

Yuuri held his gaze for a few minutes more, feeling the tears starting to flow freely. His mind too busy thinking, his chest too busy feeling. He had so many thoughts, so many emotions going through him that he didn’t know which one to accommodate first.

And as he normally would, Yuuri stepped back, and ran for the bedroom.

He raided picked up his skates, his jacket, and his face towels. He threw them into his gym bag and forcefully shoved whatever stuck out. There was no way Yuuri was going to just sit around and cry and not find himself running for the woods with hopes of never coming back. He needed to do something, needed to put his mind to something else. Maybe he’ll fall down and cut himself, maybe his skin will bruise from the impact, maybe he’ll be too distracted by trying not to fall instead of crying.

Yuuri could do that.

He could skate.

And none of what happened that night will matter.

And yet—

And yet the world was never kind, was it?

“Where are you going?” Viktor walked inside the bedroom, his stance making him appear wider than he actually is. He was blocking the door, Yuuri realised, but Viktor wasn’t about to get his way.

“Step aside,” Yuuri zipped up his gym bag, threw it over his shoulder and tried to step around Viktor.

Viktor side-stepped. Blocked.

Yuuri shook his head and walked the other way, only to be blocked again.

“What do you want?” Yuuri snapped.

“I want you to tell me what you’re _really_ thinking.”

“That’s none of your concern,” Yuuri said. “Now, would you please let me through.”

“Is that it? You want me to go away, fine. I’ll do that. If it makes you feel better, I will,” Viktor said. “But you can’t keep walking away from me like this. You can’t expect me to keep reading between the lines hoping I’d figure it out.”

Yuuri’s hand grasped the straps of his gym bag a little tighter. “I told you, it’s none of your concern.”

“Of course it’s my concern!”

Viktor’s eyes were blue flames, tired and angry and mad.

He might have appeared to be coping better than Yuuri had been, but that didn’t mean he didn’t carry the weight of his secrets with him, too.

“Hurt me. Throw something at me. Make sure I bruise. Do something, Yuuri,” Viktor said. “I don’t know how what I’m supposed to do if you’re running away like this.”

“Okay, you want to do this? Fine,” Yuuri dropped his bag. “I hate you. I love you. I hate that I can’t live without you. But every time I am with you, Viktor, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I feel like I need to apologize. I feel like I do that too much. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re _done_. Stop talking to me like everything’s fine because it’s not.”

After all those times that they fought, after all those nights that Yuuri slept from the exhaustion of crying, it was the first time he’s ever been truly honest with himself. It was the first time that he’s ever told Viktor this, face-to-face, the first time that he’ll ever admit to being pathetic and angry and maddeningly sad.

Because Viktor, after all, was the love of his life. And it stung to know that it never worked out between them.

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Trying to lure you back and make you fall in love with me again? You think this is my way of starting over again?” Viktor said, his voice was low and broken. Russian words spilled out of him, clear and anguished, a sign of the irreparable damage Yuuri has done to him. “I do something you don’t like and you don’t talk to me. I try to ask you what’s wrong and you run away. You don’t talk to me and don’t explain what I did wrong. You make me feel like garbage but I don’t know where it’s coming from. If that’s what you want, fine. _Leave_. Go make figure eights on the ice. Go and keep pretending that our marriage isn’t in shambles and that I’m the only one who’s got anything to do with it!”

No. Yuuri couldn’t stand there and listen. He couldn’t just hear what he was hearing that very moment and not push past Viktor and run out the door. Viktor stepped back, almost fell to floor in his surprise, but managed to keep himself steady by holding unto the doorframe.

Yuuri didn’t look back. Didn’t think. There was no room for thinking when his heart was pounding so fast, when his knees were about to give, when his fingers were beginning to shake.

All he knew was that he needed to get away—and with that in mind, Yuuri broke into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU [@anna-domini](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Prompts are welcome. Come on, I'm bored.


	4. St. Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing you'll need to know before reading is that this is a Yuuri-centric fic by all sense. Will discuss more at the end.

Yuuri was still awake when the world came to.

Everything above the neck hurt—his eyes, his head, his temples—the same numbness one felt when they haven’t slept at all. There was something foul in his mouth, like he had allowed a bitter pill to dissolve on his tongue. His lips were dry, his skin greasy, and his hair was a mess too complicated for him to deal with. And here Yuuri thought he wouldn’t look any worse than he did yesterday morning.

And like all things, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He wound up at the rink, after hours and hours of crying by the shore, with nothing but the night sky to comfort him. He had become desperate to find a private space soon after he saw the sun beginning to rise, and that was how he made the quick decision to slip through the staff door out back and find a nice, secluded corner at the Ice Castle.

The last thing he wanted to happen was for someone to see Yuuri Katsuki distraught, snivelling, and a pathetic mess on the Hasetsu beach. At least his family’s going to know before the press did, he couldn’t imagine how betrayed Mari was going to feel if she found out about her brother’s likely divorce on Twitter.

But he wasn’t scared about the media catching up on the divorce story, wasn’t he?

If that ever happened, he’ll just put his phone away like he did months ago and wait for the whole thing to blow off. He might feel bad about it, true. It’ll keep him up at night, sure. But he won’t feel bad about things he didn’t know. Or hear. Or read.

Yuuri once had a strange thought of hiding the whole thing and pretend it was fine, maybe he’ll fly back to Russia, fix himself, sell his apartment, then go back to his family and tell them the whole story. He can hide from the press there. It was a rock-solid plan, something he thought he’d be able to do in a heartbeat, if only he could get his passport and wallet from his shared room with Viktor at the Yu-topia.

Desperation does make for creative people.

He’d thought about that a lot last night. He tried his best not to focus on the recent encounter with Viktor because—well, because he wasn’t really ready to confront those things yet.

And now, Yuuri was facing another problem: the Nishigoris didn’t know he was there. Yuuko and Takeshi may be aware of his late night visits, but it’s unheard of for Yuuri to stay _overnight_. Without skates. And apparently cowering in the corner thinking about booking a plane that flew out of Japan in the next twelve hours.

Unable to come up with an excuse to the Nishigoris as to why he would be there, Yuuri carefully got up, made his way out of the back entrance of the rink, and started to walk.

He didn’t know where to go or what to do, all he knew was that the thought of ever having to set foot in the onsen wasn’t a desirable idea right now, so he went with that. He found himself walking along the fish markets, was greeted by a few people—but as a visiting man and not as a celebrity, thank goodness—and carried on. He came upon various stores that haven’t opened yet, along the road so close to the Ninja Castle, and finally, a _konbini_.

_Of all places_ , he thought, mournfully.

He sat outside to rest his legs, breathing in the cold morning air. There was a weird, swirling feeling somewhere in his head, the same feeling one gets when they’ve stayed up far too late to even feel like sleeping. His body was so exhausted at this point that thinking wasn’t something he could have done. His hands were clammy, trembling, and he wondered if he could just crash on the pavement and not call any attention to himself.

It was also convenient for him to remember that he didn’t have money on him at all, and right when he was about to step inside the store and have to awkwardly tell the poor cashier he was out of cash.

And so, that was how his feet began moving once more—back to the Ice Castle, even without giving it much thought. It was that one familiar place he went to when his mind was battling a hurricane of thoughts, and even through the years, that one fact hadn’t changed.

It was already open when he came back, not for business, but the with the doors unlocked it was safe to say that Yuuko was already there. She must be doing some kind of inventory or counter-checking at this time, not too distracted to note Yuuri’s presence, so he thought about what he was going to say—

Until he didn’t have to.

Once he stepped inside, he saw that Mari was already there. She was casually leaning against the front desk, eyes fixed on the doors, clearly waiting for someone to come.

“Finally,” Mari said as soon as she spotted him.

He found Yuuko between shelves of rental skates, her humming voice carrying through the otherwise empty space, looking entirely oblivious.

“ _Ne-chaan_ ,” Yuuri sighed. “You’re home?”

Mari glanced back at Yuuko and waved. “We’ll be going. I’m afraid I’ll have to steal the kiddo from morning practices.”

“Wha—”

“ _Okaa-san_ insisted that we all tried a recipe she found on the internet,” Mari interrupted. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Oh, hi!” Yuuko smiled. “You can come back in the afternoon if you like, _Yuuri-kun_. I don’t think someone’s booked the rink.”

As soon as Mari was nearing him, Yuuri blinked at Yuuko then back to his sister again. “Does she—I mean—“

“I didn’t say anything,” Mari whispered back, continuing to make her way out of the establishment, Yuuri trailing behind her. He had more questions at this point, but it seemed inappropriate to ask it then.

Yuuri kept following after Mari, hesitant to walk next to her. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early.”

“We were here since six in the morning,” Mari said. “And no, I’m not going to say anything until we’re home. And let’s get some food in you. What time is it? Nine? Come on.”

-

His anxiety started to come out just when they were a few blocks away from the Yu-topia. Yuuri found comfort in his dizziness much earlier, from his lack of sleep, but now his thoughts were keeping him more awake than ever.

What was he about to step into? Was he supposed to anticipate the worst that could happen? Mari was very, very silent right next to him; and even when the town was beginning to buzz with life, Yuuri thought he was still hearing white noise with each step it took to get him home.

His _okaa-san_ was the first one to come greet him, and that’s when Yuuri hadn’t even stepped inside the gated area of the Yu-topia. She carded her fingers through his hair, a gesture she hadn’t done in so long, and she was whispering things like ‘ _it’s going to be alright_ ’ and ‘ _we understand_ ’.

Yuuri didn’t know what to do. How much did they know? Did Viktor tell them? Was Yuuri’s father speaking to him back inside? He could do no more than hold back his tears—a cruel challenge—and made sure that his mother never felt worse than she probably already did.

“Come, Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko pulled away and brought him inside.

When he stepped into the receiving area, Mari was already there, silently scribbling down the pages of the ledgers. She looked like she didn’t pay much attention, but Yuuri knew from the silence of the halls that her refusal to look at him was forced. And so he didn’t bother her at all.

He came to a stop once he was at the private living room, one that was at the back of the common dining area, reserved for the Yuuri and his family. Toshiya was there, seated on one of the couches, but he was alone.

Yuuri didn’t want to ask why he was alone. He didn’t know how he’d confront the answer if he ever got one.

“Yuuri-kun, would you want breakfast? Shall I make soup?” Hiroko asked, moving about the room. She was glancing at her husband occasionally, like they both had secrets of their own, one that involved entirely Yuuri.

“No,” Yuuri said. “I—I need...I need to tell you something.”

And as it turned out, Yuuri didn’t have to. Hiroko’s face fell almost instantly. Toshiya bowed down to hide his expression.

The tension in the air was thick, suffocating. It held Yuuri’s secrets, his frustrations, his heartbreak. It held his apologies to his parents, for the years he refused to see them, for the times he’d been selfish to save his own heart.

It poured out, like glass breaking, like water overflowing. He told them why he kept putting off coming home, why he never wanted to see his father suffer. He told them what had happened to his marriage, to Makkachin, to his indecision to choose a career after retirement. He repeatedly asked for their forgiveness, he told them he wished he could take everything back; and finally, he told them not to hate Viktor, because Yuuri was the one who broke them.

Everything was a blur. One that was swirling together in his panic. He couldn’t tell the exact words he said, how he said them, in which tone he chose to make them sound. All he know was that he was opening himself up for the first time, cutting through jagged flesh, pouring his heart out in one, swift move.

“All my life, I wanted you to be happy.” Yuuri said, swallowing through his shaky voice. “I wanted to help with the onsen, but I’m no good, and I ended up leeching off and using up so much money on my skating. I wanted you to see your son get married in the Spring, in Hasetsu, but I can’t. I wanted to give you grandchildren, but I turned out gay and I can’t. I—“

“Oh no, no, no, Yuuri,” His mother took his damp face in her hands, calloused from the years of work. Her thumb was rubbing at his jaw gently, her eyes filled with tears. “There is nothing—We wouldn’t have wished for a better son. It was never your responsibility to make us happy, but you have. You do. Nothing was better than watching our son make a name for himself, to come out on top when many thought he couldn’t. We were happy that you told us anything and everything about you. And I’m sorry—I’m sorry that we made you feel like any part of you was something that we couldn’t accept. But we do, and we love you.”

“And we love _Vicchan_ , too,” Toshiya limped toward them, carrying his weight on his left, and reached out to firmly squeeze Yuuri on the shoulder. “We won’t ask you to fix it if you think it’s never going to be the same. What we hope for is for the both of you to end it in good terms, and that you might be happy, whichever way you both want to go on.”

Yuuri cried some more, apologized some more. He didn’t feel like he could apologize enough, he didn’t feel as if he was worth the kindness of the family he was blessed with.

It went on and on, until he slowly calmed down, and that was when Hiroko had sat him down and disappeared into the kitchen to bring him food.

By that time, Yuuri was so exhausted; emotionally and physically. He didn’t get much sleep, hadn’t rested in hours, and had cried so uncontrollably he thought he was never going to come out of it sane.

He ate some of the food, but he didn’t think he was paying much mind to it. His body was so, so close to crashing in on itself—he was both hungry and tired, two things he needed to address before he began thinking of other things. So when he was done eating, it took everything he had left to walk up the stairs, toward the bedroom, and sleepily fell unto the bed.

No thoughts of Viktor came to mind.

-

When he awoke, he was once again confused. He could see from the windows that it was already dark, but he couldn’t tell the exact time. He was feeling hungry, he smelled awful, and his eyes more swollen than they’ve ever been. The bridge of his nose hurt a bit, particularly where his glasses sat—he’d forgotten to remove them when he had been too weary to even think that morning.

He shot up, remembering the events from the night before, his heart thumping against his chest at the memory. He looked around, then down to where Viktor’s futon would be, but Yuuri was alone. That panic slowly turned back into confusion, bleeding into a mesh of battling, incoherent thoughts.

Yuuri swung his legs to the side of the bed, fighting the nagging headache brought on by either hunger or too much sleep, and found his way to the door.

On his way down the stairs, Yuuri paid attention to the noises in the dinning hall. It seemed awfully quiet to be dinner time, so he assumed he had awaken way past that already. He found his mother in the kitchen, already doing the dishes for the night.

“There’s food in the living room,” she said. “And do ask Mari if she made sure your _otou-san_ ’s taken his medicine. He forgets sometimes.”

He wanted to ask something else, but the question never came. Instead, he turned on his heel and went straight for the living room, hoping to relieve one problem at a time.

When he came upon the said room, Mari was there, leaning against one of the living chairs Viktor had brought as a gift to the onsen, reading a book. Yuuri went on to say a quiet “hey” as a greeting, sat down, and began eating.

There was no other way for the situation to get more awkward. It so was silent, save for the sound of plates being washed in the kitchen. Mari was turning pages at a very, very slow pace, which had Yuuri thinking she might not be doing any reading at all.

“ _Okaa-san_ wanted to make sure you reminded _otou-san_ about his medicine,” Yuuri said.

Finally, Mari looked up from her book, stare blank and lost. She _knew_ what was happening, probably knew more than Yuuri, and probably knew where Viktor was. If there was anything at all that was proof of Yuuri’s relation to her, it was that they both didn’t like confronting things for what they were, and would take everything to the grave if it were possible.

And it was precisely because she was Yuuri’s sister that he knew she had a lot to say. They may not have shown closeness in their adult life, but Yuuri’s lived with her long enough to know the small little things that made her what she was now—that included being able to read what she felt, what she thought, and be able to predict what she would do. Such as now—

“You’re not here to tell me that,” she said.

“She did ask me to tell you...” Yuuri’s gaze fell on his half-eaten meal, and then, “No.”

“I told you I’ll answer your questions when we get home,” she said, closing the book and tossing it on the table. “We’re home. What do you want to know?”

That was easy.

“Where’s Viktor?”

“He asked if he could take one of the vacated rooms,” Mari said. “He went out to eat this afternoon never came out since.”

And the next question, was harder. “What did he tell you?”

Mari seemed hesitant as soon as Yuuri asked, as if she was considering a lot of things inside her head before she decided to begin speaking.

“All I know is that he was looking for you the whole night and never found you,” she said. “He called me at three in the morning and I insisted we came home as soon as the doctors said we’re free to go. Then I went on to look for you. He came back when I said I found you. You can ask _okaa-san_ for the rest. Those things, I didn’t stay too long to listen for.”

Yuuri cannot explain the wave of feeling that came over him as soon as he heard. It was something akin to a deja vu, something that told him it’s happened before—and it was true.

Most of their fights have always ended up with one of them stepping out of the apartment, the other one looking everywhere worried sick, and the both of them a complete mess when they’re somehow reunited. It’s become a familiar routine now, a thing that happened far too often to be ignored, one that sent them lying on their bed at night facing away from each other.

Mari shifted in her seat. A question was coming. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Yuuri, but...” she said. “...does this happen often?”

“You can stop pretending you haven’t figured it out,” he said.

“And why didn’t you tell us about it? Why didn’t you ask _okaa-san_ for advice?”

“I knew you were dealing with so much,” Yuuri buried his face in his hands. It was either out of frustration or shame, or both. “ _Otou-san_ wasn’t doing too well, I was feeling pretty shitty for what I was doing to you—and I thought it would be better if I kept quiet about it. I know there are some things I should have said. Things ended up backfiring and I—“ Yuuri’s voice dropped a little. “I didn’t really know it was affecting me until...lately.”

Mari sighed. It was not of pity, nothing like that, but something more similar to a huff of disbelief—of figuring something out for the first time. She wasn’t the first person Yuuri ran to for things like these, but Mari, though not the best with people, was good at reading them.

“You know what I think, kiddo?” she said, leaning forwards, eyes on the table. She was contemplative, careful. “I think that there are things you should have resolved before you tried to even fix things with Viktor. I know you love the idiot. You married him, goddammit. I’m not saying it was all your fault, Viktor had some issues of his own probably, but keeping those things bottled up inside of you? It’s going to come out somewhere.”

“I—“

“You seriously thought our parents were still mad about you coming out as gay?” she said. “And after you became a gay icon, too.”

Yuuri had no time to process all these things. He had no time to even think about his other issues now that his family knew what a disaster his marriage had become. And now Mari was asking him to take a step back and look at his life? Right now? Right when he had other concerns?

“I really don’t know what you mean.”

“I didn’t expect you to, not right now anyway,” Mari picked up her book and went on to open it again. She didn’t leave a bookmark in, so she’s probably done it to avoid further conversation. “You better talk to Viktor tonight, at least. He told me to inform you about his flight tomorrow afternoon. So if there’s something you need to say to him, you can do it now. Or do it in Russia if you want to come back or something. Your decision.”

Yuuri felt startled by this. His reasons came right after his reaction, which didn’t at all made sense.

“You still don’t know if you want to go back, do you?”

He turned to his sister, much rather to the tone of her voice. She was looking down at the book, her eyes clearly not following the words on the pages, and Yuuri wondered whether he should take it as a sign to respond or to leave.

“I’m worried about the press,” he finally said. “I think I can handle coming back to Moscow more than I can handle having to deal with the tabloids.”

“So? They’ll figure out you’re not living together anyway, so it really doesn’t matter of you stay here or come back to Moscow, does it?” she sighed. “Look, I’m not forcing you to decide on anything right away. It’s just that...at least you’re not alone when you’re here.”

True. If he went back to Moscow the next morning, Yuuri was going to end up in his apartment again, doing the same things over and over and over. He wouldn’t see the sun for weeks, or talk to people unless Yurio forced his way into his apartment, or get to walk around as much as he liked. Add in the inevitable frenzy with the press he was going to lose his mind sooner or later.

“Do you think I could help you with the onsen for a bit?” Yuuri asked. “I know it’s long overdue, but I really want to.”

-

Yuuri watched as Viktor left.

He hadn’t spoken to him at all. There were so many chances for him to, but never took them. He thought long and hard about what Mari said, about fixing his own issues before looking into other things, and thought that it might as well work if he did.

That did not make watching Viktor leave less painful. Yuuri stayed back, a tight smile on his face, as he let Hiroko embrace Viktor with all the love a mother could have for a son. Toshiya wished him a safe trip, made Viktor promise to come back again soon, and let him go. Mari did nothing more than to nod, an acknowledgement, though nothing that was at all spiteful.

Minako still didn’t know the full story of what happened, but judging by the grim look on Yuuri’s face, she might as well have figured it out. She still wished Viktor good luck on his coaching career, though, which was surprisingly kind considering how protective she was of Yuuri.

“We’ll take care of him,” Yuuri heard Minako say, as if in a conversation with Viktor.

Yuuri could do nothing more than to smile and say a quick “be safe” before he stepped back into the safety of the onsen, and tried to hold back tears.

-

The first week of living with his family again was rough. It must be karma, Yuuri thought, that all of the things he was running away from was now making sure they were coming at him at full speed.

He went about his days in the kitchen, helping with food preparations and washing dishes, and when he wasn’t occupied with those, he’d come to the laundry room and help Mari with the sheets and towels as much as he could. Sometimes, Yuuri would come to the Ice Castle to skate. He made came in when Yuuko and Takeshi weren’t there, because he wasn’t too sure they won’t have questions if they saw him. He may have been busy with the onsen during daytime, but at night, he was left with his thoughts. He couldn’t allow that. Hence, the Ice Castle visits.

Very slowly, Mari was telling him to remember dosages and times for Toshiya’s medicine. He was helping her accompany their father for what Mari called “exercises” which were really just them assisting their _otou-san_ as he limped about the room. Mari taught him how to massage the muscles of Toshiya’s forearms, his calves, what do when his feet swelled, what medicine to give him when rashes appear.

Day after day, Yuuri saw the things he refused to see so long ago. He hated the fact that he wasn’t there when his family was struggling through all of these things, when his father was losing control of his own body, when Mari’s life started to revolve around their father instead of focusing on hers.

“You look sad, _Yuuri-kun_ ,” Toshiya said. “Is it _Vicchan_?”

Yuuri shook his head, and proceeded to take the appropriate medicine from the stack of pill bottles. It’s the most honest he’s ever been to them in years.

-

A month into his stay, the tabloids were having a field day.

It wasn’t an old speculation. It was something that’s been on the gossip sites and fan forums since Viktor and Yuuri arrived at the Rostelecom Cup separately. People, from then on, had slowly gathered information. They were posting photos of Viktor in St. Petersburg, walking outside of the rink with Yurio and Yakov. Then there were photos of Yuuri in Moscow, paying bills and getting groceries. The final piece of evidence that stirred up the whole thing was the public finding out that Viktor was living for a month in Russia while Yuuri was still back in Japan, and the whole internet slowly exploded in what can only be Yuuri’s nightmare.

Thousands of gossip sites preyed on the story. It was filled with speculation, one more astoundingly ridiculous than the last one. People started weaving stories, leaping into conclusions, and making very strange predictions.

Yuuri wasn’t logging into social media, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see other people taking screenshots from Instagram and Twitter, filled with comments from fans and haters alike, adding to whole speculative mess that Yuuri had expected everything to come of it.

Oddly enough, the people in his life—ones outside of those who already knew of the situation—never really asked about it. Yuuko and Takeshi saw Yuuri often when they visited the Yu-topia, the triplets never said a word of it, and his former competitors still kept up with him one way or another without mentioning anything.

That is, of course, discounting Phichit Chulanont—who had sworn to make sure Yuuri was at his happiest the whole time. Which meant that if he smelled trouble, no matter how little, he would immediately ask Yuuri about it.

“Hey,” Yuuri spoke, gazing up at Phichit’s pixelated face on the screen, wondering how much of his anxiety was showing through the camera.

“ _Have you seen the news lately?_ ” Phichit asked, wary. “ _I mean, not the news, more like the tabloids. You can’t really trust anything these days_.”

Phichit let out a nervous laughter that was so out of character that it made Yuuri feel ten times guiltier than he already was.

“I haven’t—I haven’t told you something,” Yuuri said.

And then, he could see Phichit’s smile turning into a frown, sad and worried. He hadn’t looked like that since Yuuri told him he was leaving Detroit and wanted to quit skating.

“Phichit, I—I don’t know what to say—“

“ _You don’t have to say anything_ ,” Phichit said, but not too unkind. He had his hand raised, his face filled with understanding, and a small smile started to form against his lips. “ _You will_ _talk_ _to me when you’re ready. I don’t want you to tell me anything and regret it the next day, you hear me?_ ”

“But I should have told you,” Yuuri said. “I’m so sorry. I told you I’d tell you everything and I should have—and now you’re finding things out from the _internet_ of all places.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Phichit shook his head. “ _You know damn well I don’t listen to what people on the internet say. I care about what you say. What you think. But if it’s painful to talk about, then don’t. I don’t want that either._ ”

Yuuri wanted to cry. He almost forgot how many people he’d been neglecting the whole time he was so focused on himself. These people loved him. He should have told them what was going on with him in Moscow, at least. He shouldn’t have ignored his phone for months and almost gave his best friend a heart attack.

“Thank you, Phichit,” Yuuri said. “I appreciate it.”

He really did.

“ _Alright,_ ” Phichit said. “ _So, how’s your dad? Is he feeling better_?”

-

It took five whole months for Yuuri to see a change in the gossip whirlwind.

Any other rumour would have been shut down and shrugged off immediately in a span of weeks, but with no representative or spokesperson from either party confirming or denying anything, it was surely encouraging more and more speculation.

If neither Viktor nor Yuuri was known across the world for many reasons, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Figure Skating as a sport wasn’t huge internationally, but Viktor was big in Russia as Yuuri was in Japan. And if that weren’t enough, their own love story had catapulted people into speaking out about gender and sexuality, of what it meant for sports, politics, demographics. They caused so much impact as individuals and as a duo that a rumoured divorce wasn’t going to go out so easily.

And as Yuuri had always known, they had wonderful supporters—a legion of them. He’d always thought he and Viktor could never get away with what they’ve been doing for years without these people coming to defend them, and for that, he would always be thankful.

Although what didn’t make sense, was what Yuuri had stumbled into as he was checking the news. Minako and Mari advised him against it—telling him it’d be like rubbing salt into an open wound—but in all honesty, Yuuri was just checking to see if it was alright for him to come back to Russia soon.

He wanted to stay and take care of his family, he really did, but he had a life in Russia, too. He had an apartment, bills to pay, and neighbours who were probably wondering where he was. Yuuri wanted to start a new life, that was true, but he felt like it shouldn’t be in Hasetsu. Where his supposed new life could be, he still didn’t know how to answer that. Not yet, anyway.

And so he ended up opening a random article. By the looks of it, the author was a supporter of him and Viktor. Unlike the others, they didn’t find ways to show proof of how Viktor was just busy and Yuuri was just missing his family. They didn’t make excuses and went on a high road to prove that Viktor and Yuuri were still together, but instead, they wrote something beautifully understanding.

The article itself was like a bittersweet compilation of Yuuri’s love for Viktor.

It narrated Yuuri’s failure at Sochi, and then his outstanding comeback at the Japanese Nationals two years after. They discussed the long term impacts of the public kiss, the announcement of their engagement, their pair skate, and Viktor’s shameless planning for their wedding. The author went on to talk about how much of it has affected Figure Skating as a sport, and eventually other sports.

The article then went on with a conclusion that ‘ _no, we do not know for certain if the Nikiforovs are still together, but all we can say for sure is that we are thankful for how much their relationship changed us all_ ’.

Just where the whole spiel cut out, was a slideshow of some sort. It had an incredible amount of photographs—about sixty to seventy of them—all photos of Viktor and Yuuri documented through press and social media, in chronological order. A story of Yuuri, for the first time, falling in love.

Yuuri smiled. Because if he truly thought about it, no matter how much he and Viktor fought, although it didn’t end up the way Yuuri wanted it to, there were things he was able to take away from it.

It was that Yuuri Katsuki, a dime-a-dozen skater, deserved to receive the kind of love he never thought he would.

-

Another three months passed, and finally, Yuuri stood in front of the Yu-topia with the rest of his family and friends as he bade them goodbye. He’d left most of the clothes he had ended up buying in Kyushu when he extended his stay, a physical promise of an eventual return.

“Are you sure, Yuuri?” Minako asked him when he was getting ready to leave. She had embraced him and pulled away just enough to see the reaction on his face, her watchful eyes receptive to every little detail like they’ve always been.

Yuuri smiled. “I know I need to go, at least,” he said. “If I move out of my apartment, I’ll let you know.”

His mother packed him some snacks, similar to the ones she never failed to tuck in his bags back when he was in middle school. “Call us when you land, alright?” she said. “And don’t forget to give some of that tea to your sweet neighbour. I sure hope she appreciates it.”

“I’m sure she will,” he kissed her on the cheek, and then went to his father to embrace him tightly. “ _Otou-san_ , tell me about your next doctor’s visit, okay? If you need me to send anything...”

Toshiya waved his hand. “You don’t need to worry about us,” he said. “Just call more often and that’ll be enough.”

He climbed into the Nishigoris’ SUV after he said his goodbyes. He and Yuuko talked for a while, Takeshi joining in when he could, and Yuuri felt that his heart was suddenly light. The whole scene itself was so similar to how it would have gone long before Yuuri left for America; Yuuko’s father drove him to the train station, Takeshi and Yuuko coming along to see him off, and then Yuuri would meet up with his coach and leave for a competition.

He didn’t have much when he was young, but the people who have always been there for him brought him to where he was.

-

At the airport in Moscow, Yuuri was met by a sleepy Yurio. He looked like he just fell out of a bed and did nothing at all to fix his hair, but he was awake enough to spot Yuuri amongst the crowd.

“Welcome back,” Yurio grumbled, picking up one of Yuuri’s bags and swung it over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing one of his ridiculous jackets, but much rather a loose, grey sweater that was definitely too big on him.

“Um, hi?” Yuuri said. Over Yurio’s shoulder, he saw Otabek, who in turn nodded and smiled at Yuuri in acknowledgement. “I didn’t tell you my ETA.”

Yurio looked over to Otabek for a moment, before he said, “Your sister told us,” he said. “Now, come on. It’s not like you parked your car somewhere. We’re driving you.”

Back at the car, Yurio tossed him a paper bag before starting the engine. Yuuri already knew right away what it was, and unlike his first reaction months ago, he smiled. “Are you guys taking the weekend off?” Yuuri asked. “It’s really close to Europeans.”

“I’m heading home tomorrow,” Yurio waved dismissively.

“Oh? And Otabek has to fly back to Almaty for all that?”

At a stop light, Yurio turned to glare at Yuuri, although it did nothing to hide the pinkish colour on his cheeks. “Shut up,” Yurio said, although it wasn’t all too harsh at all. “You sound better, at least.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Did you like it better when I wasn’t teasing you?”

A sigh filled the closed space of the car, sounding relived. “No.”

Yurio and Otabek shared a glance at each other, one that could only be of understanding, a delicate moment between them that cannot be intruded upon by someone else. It was wonderful how two people, over time, can learn how to communicate without using words at all.

And as Yuuri looked at them both, he wished them all the love and happiness in world.

-

A year. Yuuri watched as the world around him changed.

Yurio went on to win countless competitions, building a name for himself and carving it into the pages of history. Phichit would become one hell of a rival for him, blossoming far later into his career like Yuuri once had. Mila would become one of the best in the women’s division, forcibly breaking through with the sheer force of strength and ‘ _whoever said that I had to fit the mould of a proper ice princess_ ’?

He always knew that a lot of things could change in a year—Yuuri’s whole comeback into Figure Skating was a basic example of it—but he thought nothing could ever transcend that one year of his life changing at twenty-three.

Now, Yuuri was thirty one years old, and he realized that he still had so much to learn. Not only was his life capable of changing that much in time, but others’ as well, which in turn changed all those who were ever touched by those changes.

When he came back to Moscow, he did a lot on the first week. He did a lot of cleaning, of paying bills, of checking his bank accounts. Once the tabloids knew about his return to Russia, articles popped up again, but it was old news now. Sometimes people came up to him to ask about his marriage, but he’d smile and politely excuse himself, and rarely would anyone chase down after him.

Two weeks later, he was offered a coaching job at a local rink, but thought he wasn’t ready yet, so he asked if he could teach kids instead—they thought it was alright.

And so now, Katsuki Yuuri, age thirty one, was a skating instructor at the local rink. He sometimes helped some of the younger coaches, all of whom took his word like divine law, which he would be so embarrassed about later on. They were young, he thought, probably grew up watching him when he was at the peak of his career—and even that sometimes embarrassed him, but he guessed he deserved some of it.

He would eventually come to a coffee shop two blocks down the street, a coffee shop both he and Viktor loved, and was greeted by Mara as soon as he came in. Her hair was longer now, secured by a ponytail at the back of her head, and has also probably heard the news.

If she did know anything about Yuuri in the past year, she didn’t show it, but instead, she asked, “Your usual?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri smiled, inhaling the familiar scent of caffeine and potted plants. There would be a couples’ night later that evening, he knew. He could tell by the decorations and the very obvious poster behind the counter. “How are you doing?”

“Ah, I’m actually graduating college this year!” she smiled up at him, continuing to work on his coffee by the machine. “I guess you won’t be seeing me in a few months.”

Yuuri laughed, and said he’d surely miss her. “Which degree?”

“Sports therapy,” she said, walking toward the counter with Yuuri’s coffee. “If you know any athletes, give me a call? I could use some experience to find a proper job.”

“I will,” he said, digging out his wallet to hand her a few bills.

When she took the money, she frowned. Mara took a few Rubles, folded the rest, and handed them back to Yuuri.

“Keep the change,” he said.

Mara looked stunned. “That’s—this is too much.”

He raised a finger to his lips. “An early graduation gift,” he said. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Yuuri walked out of the coffee shop with a smile. He knew for a fact that the closer someone wass to graduating, the more they needed to catch up on things, probably need more money to print out enough drafts for that research study everybody hated doing. He’s already seen so many people change for the better, what’s one more? It also didn’t hurt that Mara was wonderful, too.

He continued to walk with that smile on his face, hoisted his gym bag, and went for the local ice rink.

It perhaps wasn’t as grandiose as the one they had in St. Petersburg. Yuuri wasn’t even part of the skating club. He was just there on the weekends to teach children, and sometimes people will ask him to stay a little longer as a favour. He didn’t mind.

As he was tying up his laces in the men’s locker room, Yuuri stared at a poster on the wall. It was of Viktor, of all people, still in his competitive prime. The Figure Skating community probably has many shrines for the legend himself, and it didn’t surprise Yuuri to know that his face would be in every rink in Russia. Coaches told tales of Viktor’s career to their students, they admired him a lot, and they passed that on to the next generation as well.

Oddly enough, Yuuri didn’t feel the heaviness in his chest when he saw the poster. Something in him must have changed drastically for it to feel such a way, and he knew that was a good thing. There was none of that hatred left, maybe just a little bit of guilt, but nothing that cannot be fixed by a proper conversation.

Surely, Yuuri owed him that, didn’t he? They _both_ owed each other that, at least.

So he picked up his phone, typed in a message, and sent it before he could change his mind.

-

It took seven hours before Yuuri could get a reply. A hesitant ‘yes’, but it was better than nothing. Yuuri would understand if Viktor truly didn’t want to speak with him, it really was. But maybe things have changed for him as well, and Yuuri was thankful for that.

They chose to meet somewhere more private, not a place as crowded as a restaurant or a cafe where they could easily be recognized, but an ice skating rink. The one in St. Petersburg.

So it’s been an arduous three days filled with nervous anticipation for Yuuri. He had packed light, enough for a day, booked his plane and hotel, and made sure he wore the appropriate disguise. He was going to arrive at night anyway, so it would be easier to hide from anyone nosy enough to take pictures of him as he stepped out of the airport.

“Can I get you water or coffee?”

Yuuri looked to his side to see a flight attendant with her usual cart, anticipating an answer.

“Water,” Yuuri said.

He can rest as soon as he was in the safety of his hotel room, _then_ he’ll be able to gather all the energy he needed to step into that rink. At this point, coffee would not help his nerves at all.

The plane landed and Yuuri bypassed the baggage section. He didn’t bring much, so everything was in his carry-on. As soon as he stepped out of the arrival doors, however, he saw that Yurio was already there.

Yuuri paused to look around, but as soon as he saw that there were no signs of fans or reporters, he went on to meet Yurio.

“Viktor told me you’d be arriving today,” Yurio said, pointing toward the parking area where his car probably was, and began to walk toward it. “He didn’t want to accidentally do something stupid so he asked me to come get you.”

He nodded and followed Yurio to his car, clutching his carry-on close to his chest. “I didn’t think he’d tell you.”

Yurio started the ignition and began backing up from the parking space. “Yeah, but he didn’t want you to arrive without anyone picking you up so...” he muttered. “Whatever this is, I don’t know shit anyway, so relax. You had dinner yet?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“Great,” Yurio said. “There’s this new place that does late deliveries. Do you want me to stay for a bit or?”

“That would be great,” Yuuri said. “You can stay.”

They talk about skating, about the Russian team, and about Otabek. Yuuri had to really squeeze it out of Yurio, but he managed to, and it was amusing. Yurio was young, hopeful, and energetic. Yuuri hoped he stayed that way.

-

Yuuri spent the day watching the city from the hotel windows, appreciating what’s changed. Even as they decided to move to Moscow, he and Viktor thought St. Petersburg would always be their home.

Come to think about it, Yuuri couldn’t remember why they moved in the first place. They had plans to buy a nice town house in St. Petersburg when they were ready to settle, but since they were still young, it hadn’t been a big deal for them to live somewhere else for the mean time.

He watched the sun rise and set, ate his breakfast and lunch inside his hotel room, afraid to ruin their meeting in the unfortunate event of the tabloids finding out—but Yuuri felt _alright_. He felt like he was finally ready to face Viktor after all that’s happened. For the first time, he felt like they could have a conversation that would not end badly.

That was more than enough to reassure him.

At seven, Yuuri left the hotel. And although it’s been a long time since he stepped foot in the city, he knew the streets very well. The rink itself wasn’t too far away—which was why he booked the particular hotel he was staying in—and quickly found his way there.

As he came upon the rink, he had to take a deep breath. Unlike the rest of the world around him, it was one of the things that hadn’t changed. It was looming, intimidating, but now that Yuuri was older, much wiser, he knew not to be afraid of it.

Inside, it was uncharacteristically quiet. Viktor must have asked everyone at the rink to leave early, or they were just having a day off, either way Yuuri was thankful that they were going to be alone. It was one thing to be in a restaurant with dozens of strangers who knew who they were, and it was another for them to be surrounded by a few people they knew so well.

He opened the doors to rink, and almost immediately, he found Viktor leaning against the half wall. He was in his trench coat, the black designer one that he’s had for a long time, and his hair was now cut the same way it’s been the first time they met. Viktor looked better than he did a year ago, healthier, a little less pale. His cheeks weren’t as hallowed out and his eyes weren’t as tired, still beautiful as ever, and less broodingly so.

Viktor hadn’t looked at him then, but Yuuri knew Viktor already noticed his arrival. So Yuuri slowly walked to where Viktor was, stopped a feet away from where he was leaning on the railings, and did the same thing.

Everything was still in that moment. The humming of the electricity and the distant sound of traffic were the only things that disturbed it’s serenity, and Yuuri couldn’t have wanted anything more. It was like that moment before a jump, when all the world around you stops and goes silent, and all the energy you had was focused on that one, single moment alone.

“You fell in love with my skating before you even fell in love with me as a person,” Viktor said, his voice echoing into the high ceilings, eyes straight ahead. “It was the only thing I’m good at, so I kept doing it. When I felt that my knees weren’t as strong as they were before, when I was starting to feel my body giving up...” he took a deep breath. “...I got scared.”

Yuuri looked at him intently, desperate to find any clue as what Viktor was thinking. All he could see, however, was an ocean of uncertainty, of guilt, of unhappiness. Yuuri wondered then, how he’d never noticed that before.

“Why?”

“Because I thought that if I stopped skating, you will eventually realize that I’m nothing special and I’d eventually ruin your life,” he said. “I don’t know anything besides skating and looking pretty, and those are the things you don’t get to keep when you grow old.”

“Oh, Viktor...”

“And then I came home tired all the time...until I wasn’t even home that often anymore,” Viktor said. “I thought that perhaps my usual absence was making you more distant—or something like that—so I thought I’d force the problem out of you and solve it right away, when _clearly_ it wasn’t what I should’ve done. I should have been home more often, I should have talked to you more, worked less...”

It was the first time Yuuri’s ever heard any of this. A year ago, Viktor already knew there was something that he was doing wrong, but he didn’t understand what it was or what was causing him to become like that. Maybe the long time they’ve been apart from each other was exactly what they needed to understand themselves, to fix their own issues before looking into someone else’s.

“I’m sorry, _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor said. “I should have known much sooner.”

Yuuri sighed.

He’s spent all this time thinking about what he was going to say, and he wasn’t about to leave anything out now. “There are two versions of you in my head,” he began. “There’s one living legend, who broke barriers, was untouchable, and yet encouraged me to become a professional skater. He was the Viktor Nikiforov I’d seek approval from—and the Viktor I’d want to compete against on the ice.”

Viktor turned to look at him then, his blue irises brighter against the white ice behind him, his face more serene than it’s ever been before.

“The other one, is the imperfect coach who could slip up at anytime, who sometimes said the wrong things, who’s charming and lovely and a delight to talk to,” Yuuri smiled. “He’s very different from the living legend, but he was the one I wanted to _marry_.”

He looked down this time, thinking that if he didn’t, his nerves might betray him. “I knew you were busy. After you retired, you focused heavily on me, so I wasn’t too worried about that. But then, _I_ retired, and I noticed that you wanted to do something,” Yuuri said. “I know it must be hard. I could see that you missed the ice, and that’s why I encouraged you to help Yurio and see if you want the job. Sometimes I felt like I was the one who pushed you into it, so I should be the one making the adjustments.”

Yuuri shook his head. He almost wanted to laugh at his own naivete, how he’d thought he was doing the right thing right up until it backfired.

“I didn’t want you to feel more stressed out than you’ve already been, so I didn’t really want you to see how much I’ve been screwing up. I keep wondering...if I was holding you back—“

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor’s voice sharpened, but only a little. “You were perfect. You _are_ perfect. If you kept thinking that your screw ups were somehow going to make you any less desirable to me, then there’s something I must be doing wrong.”

No.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Yuuri said. “You know me, Viktor. I think too much, I think about the worst possibilities even before anything actually happens.”

“And you know I am, too,” Viktor said. “That’s why I was yelling at you—I shouldn’t have—because I thought maybe it was easier to get it out of you if I made you upset. All it did was ruin us, and I—I regret it to this day.”

Now was Yuuri’s time to apologise. Now was the time for Viktor to know that it wasn’t all him.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the cold, dank air of the ice, and said, “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad or inadequate. You would never want that for me and I really should have said something,” he paused, looked to Viktor again, and smiled. “I hope you’ll allow me to talk to you again. We don’t have to meet in person or talk over the phone—you could just send me updates on Yurio or...”

_Or anything at all_ , he didn’t say.

“I will,” Viktor said.

Something still hung in the air between them, an unspoken something, which Yuuri was still deciding on saying out loud.

Would it be too soon? Would it be too forward of him to? He really wasn’t expecting anything at this point, but—it wouldn’t be nice, would it? To talk to him again? To watch the love of his life become happy once more?

“Have you had dinner yet?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri was surprised then, feeling as if Viktor had read his mind. “No, I haven’t.”

“Would it be, uh—we could go together if you want,” Viktor said, hesitantly. “I know a place that’s a bit...discrete. I mean, the press won’t be there and the people aren’t too nosy about what the other patrons do.” He managed a smile, as beautiful as the first time Yuuri’s seen it. “And you can tell me more about _mama_ and _papa_ Katsuki there.”

Viktor’s hand was held out, an invitation, a gamble.

And unlike the year before, there were no voices in Yuuri’s head that said ‘ _it’s not a good idea_ ’ or ‘ _what if_ ’, because that’s what’s always been between the two of them—a plunge, a surprise, a hope for something wonderful in the end.

So Yuuri took it and allowed to be led outside.

It would be too early to assume anything at all from that one moment. But for the mean time, Yuuri only knew one thing—that the remaining walls between them have all crumbled, that their wounds were beginning to heal, and it was time for them to start anew.

It would be too early to say if they were going to forget about the divorce, if Viktor was going to move back in, or if they were going to get another puppy or finally get to adopting children of their own. Those questions would be for another time, another chance, another attempt at building a relationship once broken.

Yuuri still loved Viktor, though, and he always would.

And as they stepped into the restaurant, dropped their orders, and spoke of the things that have changed, Yuuri knew that they were starting over once again.

“You know,” Viktor said. “You never really did teach me how to read Kanji.”

Yuuri smiled, setting his fork down. “Another lesson for another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you might be like, why the hell did I just serve you 7k+ of just Yuuri and no Viktor? Here's the thing: what I was trying to do here was to basically narrate possibilities of what happens after marriages fall apart. In this case, Yuuri was young, recently retired, and was at the age where he was about to make big life decisions. Viktor's done a lot of thinking too, that's why their whole meeting worked out the way it did.
> 
> **I do not, by any means, speak for everyone.** But I love writing emotions, and this is my practice piece.
> 
> Anyway, I've _meant_ for it to end at a hopeful note. It's open-ended, but it's hopeful. There's a suggestion for a "next time" instead of a closed-shut "goodbye", and Yuuri explicitly says he still loves Viktor, and wether or not the leads to something else is part of it's open-endedness.
> 
> Anyway, HMU on Tumblr [@anna-domini](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/)


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